


Paradise Bought

by cowgirldressage1



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:36:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirldressage1/pseuds/cowgirldressage1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coridan seeks Federation help in the midst of terrorist strikes.  The Federation Ambassador, sent to aid them, is an old friend of Spock's, throwing James T. Kirk into a diplomatic morass and fits of jealousy. When the terrorists capture the Enterprise command crew, Kirk finds a unique solution to saving Spock's sanity in the face of torture.  His solution will save Spock's life and force them to finally come to grips with their friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: I Cried at Pity

Paradise Bought  
Notes: This takes place after the first three years of the initial mission, but prior to the end of the five year mission.

Chapter 1: I Cried at Pity

But not to touch, or wish for,  
Or think of, with a sigh --  
And so and so -- had been to me,  
Had God willed differently  
By Emily Dickinson

Captain’s Log: Stardate: 2271

We are in orbit around Coridan, one of the Federation’s newest members. Their admission into the Federation was and has caused a highly volatile discussion, especially with regard to dilithium mining rights. Politically, they have maintained certain independence, not much is known about their social structures. What we do know is that they have historically experienced a great deal of political unrest. Most recently, there have been reports of terrorism, particularly in their major cities. 

Their Council of Elders has requested a Federation Representative aid them with alleged alien incursions and domestic terrorism on their planet. They report ‘undesirables’ have engaged in strikes, particularly with regard to mining operations, bombings of major cities and rioting. They believe these undesirables are funded, in part, by an off planet consortium, that is interested in overthrowing their current government, thus gaining access to the planet’s rich resources. 

This opposing faction is made up of a citizens who are protesting their lack of civil rights, representation in the legitimate government, and demanding protection from what is apparently, alien influence in their society. Their definition of ‘undesirables’ is anyone who disagrees with the current government’s position on mining rights and undocumented labor. 

At best, we hope to act as intermediaries between the two factions, aided to a large degree by the capable Ambassador Per Ericksson. 

Captain’s Personal Log:

I dislike politics. This assignment quite honestly, makes me anxious. There is something off about the Council of Elders claims and I wouldn’t be surprised that the supposed terrorism isn’t some how justified by their treatment of their own working class. 

My personal philosophies aside, I have unqualified confidence in my crew and have found Ambassador Ericksson, to be very competent, knowledgeable and engaging. He has managed to easily befriend my command crew and even Mr. Spock seems to enjoy, no, tolerate his company with equanimity. 

I am not looking forward to beaming down for the conference scheduled for tomorrow at 800h. Tonight, we are hosting a small reception for five members of the Council and the Ambassador’s aides. I am hoping to gain some insight into the personalities involved and what the real issues are.

Captain Kirk turned the con off with an impatient snap and ran his hand through his hair. He had three hours before the reception and really needed some rest. Or, he could go visit Doctor McCoy and listen to him rant about how over extended he was. In any case, McCoy could probably be convinced cheer him up a bit with his implacable wit.

Ten minutes later found him leaning against the doorway of McCoy’s office in Sickbay. He watched his friend, bent over his computer, frowning over the endless paperwork involved in being the Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise. Grumbling and cursing, McCoy looked up and motioned for Jim to take a seat.

“God damn fitness reports. I swear, Star Fleet can make the simplest thing complicated. I don’t know why they bother having a CMO, a computer program could do this. Hey, maybe your First Officer can be useful for once and come up with one.”

“Bones, Bones . . . you know you love the extra attention you get from making a mountain out of a mole hill. Besides, Spock is being useful. He’s entertaining the Coridan delegation before the reception tonight.”

“Brilliant choice, Jim. Better him than me. Diplomacy gives me a belly ache.”

Jim chuckled sympathetically but managed to fuss with McCoy’s picture of Joanna, his seven-year-old daughter. Picking up the old fashion framed photograph, Jim rubbed his thumb absently over the glass.

“Bones, do you ever wonder what the point of this all is? I mean, why these people do what they do? Why make it all so difficult? From what I understand, the Coridans choose to keep their classes separate, workers from the educated. The workers have no say in how their planet is governed. They have no say in how they themselves are governed. How is it that they haven’t learned from history that if everyone is treated equally, given the same rights, they will work for the benefit of the whole? How can they be surprised when the workers rise up and take what is theirs, what would be theirs, on any other Federation planet?” Jim stopped, staring into the space behind McCoy’s head with a thoughtful expression.

“Jim, I don’t know. If you ever figure out the answers, I’d guess we’d have a pretty perfect universe.” 

McCoy suspected Jim needed to vent and the reception would be no place for him to express his feelings. He looked at his friend and saw lines of fatigue and tension, marking his handsome face. Normally, Jim would work it off with Spock, playing chess, sparring or just talking. Spock had spent so much time recently with the Ambassador; he had been neglecting his primary duty, to keep Jim on an even keel with his uncompromising support. Damn elf knew better than to let his Captain stew over politics, especially those where an underdog was wronged. Jim’s stress and evident sleeplessness were predictable.

He stood and walked to glassed shelves and pulled out a bottle of Saurian brandy. He put two glasses on his desk and poured the viscous blue liquid to the top of both. Picking up one glass, he raised it in an ironic toast. Jim picked up the other glass, smiled grimly and took a small sip.

“I briefly met the Ambassador and his entourage when they came aboard. What do you think of him, Jim? Is he up to this?”

Jim studied his glass for a moment and took another sip. “Ambassador Ericksson and his staff seem well prepared. He comes across as genial and competent. I like him. The crew seems to like him. Hell, even Spock seems to like him. And the Coridans appear to be eager to work with him and us. I am not exactly expecting trouble, but my intuition tells me that things might not go as we expect. I’m confident the Enterprise can handle almost anything. I’m just a little uneasy. No particular reason. Just . . .”

“Well, Jim, when your intuition starts beeping, I’d say we should pay attention. I trust your feelings over most facts. Speaking of facts, what’s the deal with Spock and the Ambassador?”

“What do you mean, Bones?”

“Well, the damn hobgoblin escorted the Ambassador’s party to Sickbay for their initial physicals and never left Mr. Ericksson’s side. In fact, they chattered like a couple of squirrels the entire time, to the point even the Ambassador’s aides were rolling their eyes. Then, your aloof First Officer offered to give Ericksson, not his aides mind you, a tour of the ship. He was virtually glued to his side the entire time. I thought Chapel was going to have a stroke.”

Jim frowned. “He was doing what he thought appropriate to make the Ambassador comfortable. I’m sure that’s all it was.”

“What ever you say, Jim. I think he found the Ambassador quite . . . ”

Jim choked on his brandy and gave McCoy a hard glare. “Don’t be ridiculous. Spock is only interested in his duty.”

“Alright, Jim. All I know is he is mighty comfortable with Ericksson and Ericksson evidently can make even a Vulcan smile.”

Jim kept quiet, considering. Certainly, Ericksson was compelling and clearly Spock found him somewhat fascinating. That did not, however, equate with what McCoy was suggesting. 

“Smile, Bones? Surely you jest.” Jim was irritated with McCoy’s insinuation.

“Actually, no. At one point, Ericksson was full throttle, telling stories. I wasn’t paying much attention until I noticed that little quirk Spock does with his mouth. You know the one. The one he does when you say something particularly and illogically human.”

“Oh.” Jim felt curiously uneasy. He put his drink down and stood, giving himself a mental shake.

“Well, Bones, I need to get moving. That full dress rig takes some time to get into. I’ll see you at the reception.” With that, Jim walked toward the door. He paused for a moment and looked back over his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” He strode out the door without further comment.

McCoy stared after him. “Huh.” He gathered the half finished glasses, polished them both off and thoughtfully made his way to his quarters to change.


	2. Chapter 2:  Someone Was Saying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Coridan issue is revealed, as is Spock's relationship with the Ambassador.

Chapter 2: Someone Was Saying

The night would not end.  
Someone was saying the music was over and no one had  
noticed.  
Then someone said something about the planets, about the  
stars,  
how small they were, how far away.

The Long Sad Party by Mark Strand

Jim’s yeoman had been reassigned to work closely with the Mess Chief, Chef Ramsey, for the duration. He was a brilliant cook and had taken great pains to make sure the reception was an elegant affair. As a result, Conference Room 6, the largest available, had been transformed into a formal dining room with seats for twenty. A buffet was set along one long wall, and included selections from Andor and Vulcan for the vegetarians to Mars haute cuisine and a roast enir from Tellar, one of Jim’s personal favorites. Alcoholic beverages were plentiful though Jim had requested Chef Ramsey lower the proof so the guests could drink with enthusiasm but little effect. 

Spock was already present, standing alone by the buffet. When Jim walked in, Spock moved immediately to his side, his presence a calming effect on Jim’s nerves. Spock acknowledged him silently, his eyes warm. Jim gave him a quick smile and glanced around to make sure the command crew was present.

Lieutenants Sulu and Uhura stood by the dining table deep in conversation. Ensign Chekov had pigeonholed Mr. Scott; enthusiastically waving his hands while Scott tried to look both kind and critical at the same time. McCoy was standing at the bar, staring morosely at his less than satisfying drink. 

Everyone managed to look dapper in their dress uniforms though Mr. Scott and McCoy were pulling at their collars like they were choke chains. Even Uhura had managed to forage and find the infamous sleeveless version of the female dress uniform, sinfully red, trimmed in black cord, showing her smooth shoulders to their best advantage.

Jim glanced at his First Officer and marveled for the hundredth time how his uniform fit his slender build as though it had been specifically tailored for him. Jim gave a tug to the hem of his gold tunic. It was scratchy and hot but he knew he looked good, at any rate. He opened his mouth to complain, looking over at Spock and caught his expression when the Ambassador’s party entered the briefing room.

Rapt was the only word that came to mind. Jim’s stomach clenched. He had never seen this expression before. He studied Spock’s face and tried not to panic. Jim turned his head and watched the Ambassador make his entrance. He was accompanied by four aides, but Spock’s eyes were on no one but Ericksson, his tall lean frame moving gracefully through the room, his smile, warm and gracious, his blue eyes friendly but sharp. 

Seeing Jim and Spock standing together, Ericksson left his party and walked up to them eagerly, extending his large hand to Jim. Jim took it and immediately felt the Ambassador’s charisma radiating off of him. 

“It’s nice to see you this evening, Mr. Ambassador. I hear my First Officer has made sure you and your staff are prepared to meet the Coridans.”

Ericksson turned a smile on Spock, dropped Jim’s hand and presented the Ta’al. Waspishly, Jim thought this was a little too precious, since they had spent the better part of the last two days touring the ship. It wasn’t as though they were meeting for the first time.

“Mr. Spock has been most generous with his time. We appreciate his efforts more than you know, Captain.” Ericksson’s voice was a clear tenor; with an oddly musical cadence that suggested Standard was not his first language.

“Of course, Mr. Ambassador, we come to serve.” Spock ducked his head. Jim pushed down his rising anxiety, glancing between the two men.

“The Coridans are due in the Transporter Room shortly, Ambassador, would you care to greet them?”

“Of course, Captain. My aides can remain here. I am at your disposal.”

“Captain, if I might, I would like to join you and the Ambassador.” 

Jim sighed. McCoy was right, Ericksson was going nowhere without Spock dancing attendance. He wasn’t used to Spock’s undivided attention on anyone other than himself. He nodded his head. “Of course, Mr. Spock, by all means, let’s meet the Coridans.”

Jim, Spock and Ericksson found themselves waiting in the Transporter Room. Evidently, the Coridans were experiencing some trouble, delaying their transport. This gave Jim a few minutes to observe their guest, who once again was speaking enthusiastically with Spock. 

Ericksson was a tall man, taller by a few centimeters than Spock and Jim came up to his jaw in his heeled boots. Jim really wasn’t sensitive about his height, what he lacked, he more than made up for with an agile, athletic build. Ericksson was tall enough though, that he had to stoop slightly to meet Jim’s eyes. When he and Spock were chatting amiably, Jim felt the conversation was occurring above him.

Another point of contention was the fact that Ericksson was beautiful. Jim wasn’t reluctant to assign that description to a man, and it fit. Ericksson had strong regular features, a sunny freckled complexion, thick wavy blond hair that came to his shoulders, and expressive blue eyes that wouldn’t have been out of place on a woman. In fact, if Jim were honest, Ericksson was decidedly effeminate. Even his voice, though low, had a breathy, gentle quality that reminded Jim vaguely of Uhura.

Jim’s attention was suddenly drawn to Ericksson’s laugh, rich and surprisingly loud. 

“Sorry! I missed that one. What did you just say Spock?”

“Nothing of importance, Captain. I was merely describing Chef Ramsay’s penchant for adding unanticipated elements to his dishes . . . and their effective aftermath.”

Jim grinned, these were legendary tales. “Did you mention the time he added cinnamon to the strawberry/rhubarb pie he created just for you on your birthday?”

Spock feigned a shocked expression, “Indeed, not.”

Ericksson laughed. “Was it anything like the time your Aunt Marie put chocolate in her famous fruitcake and didn’t tell you?” 

As Spock leapt to his Aunt’s defense, Jim’s brain came to a screeching halt. Why did Ericksson know about Spock’s family, much less the contents of their recipes? An idea was beginning to dawn on him.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. It just occurred to me, do you know each other?”

“Oh, Captain! Spock, wait, of course you didn’t mention it. What am I even thinking? Both of our parents are diplomats. We were dragged around the galaxy for various conferences and really were the only children there. God, Spock, I think I’ve known you for thirty years!”

“Actually, Pelle, it has been 31.25, allowing for intergalactic time normalization.”

Jim was saved from trying to come up with a reasonable response when he heard the Transporter technician advise that the Coridan party was ready to beam up. Jim nodded and watched as the platform filled with five humanoid shapes. 

Once they were fully formed, the lead delegate stepped forward.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain.”

“Permission granted. Welcome to the Enterprise, gentlemen. I am Captain Kirk. This is my First Officer, Mr. Spock. I would also like to introduce you to Ambassador Per Ericksson of the Federation Diplomatic Corps.”

The delegate stepped forward, long dark robes whispering across the floor. Each of the delegates wore something similar, deep hoods, hiding their faces. He pulled the hood back and bowed deeply to the three men.

“I am C’sar, High Elder of the Corridan B’rank Council, Judicial Advocate of our High Court. May I present . . . “

Jim tuned out the recitation of titles and positions, focusing on names and faces instead. The four other men had thrown back their hoods and Jim had a few moments to analyze the Coridans. 

He had of course been briefed but was still somewhat surprised by how human the Coridans looked. Their facial features varied of course, their builds, although tending to be on the taller side, differed from thin to somewhat portly. What distinguished them from Terrans, though, was their skin tone. While Terrans tended to have a red, brown or blue undertones, the Coridans seemed to be cast in yellows and oranges. They were striking looking. 

Jim and Ericksson made small talk with the delegation as they escorted them to the reception. Upon reaching the Conference room, Jim noticed that with the exception of C’sar, the other delegates seemed aloof, as if they were intimidated somehow. Jim also noted curiously, they were all male, and in fact the Coridans seemed to actively avoid the women present at the reception. It was so obvious that at one point, Uhura sidled up to him, placing her small hand in the crook of his elbow and observed very quietly.

“Captain, our guests seem to be uncomfortable.”

Jim nodded and patted her hand. She released his arm but leaned toward him. “They don’t seem to know how to interact with the women here. It’s so odd. If you want, I can sneak out.”

Jim glanced around, noting that Uhura and his yeoman were the only women from the Enterprise present. There was still the issue of the Ambassador’s aide, a Betazoid woman of late middle age. She would have to stay; her input was too valuable to Ericksson. Jim looked down at Uhura and gave her a grateful smile.

“Good idea, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”

“Thank you Sir, have a good evening.” With that, Uhura gathered the yeoman, who shot Jim a confused look on her way out. 

Jim made his way over to C’sar, catching the tail end of his conversation with Ericksson.

“It is a disgrace. We have done everything for them, free education, medical programs, and social assistance but no matter what we do, they aren’t satisfied. Our economy is on the brink of disaster, meeting their needs, taking skilled jobs, and bringing down the quality of health care and education. Instead of being grateful, they firebomb our capital, disrupt transportation, destroy their own neighborhoods with rioting . . . We have to have a solution, soon. If the Federation expects us to continue to provide dilithum under the Treaty of K’ven, we will need help. These people must see reason, be put down.”

C’sar was flushed with anger and a couple of his delegates were nodding emphatically in agreement, when Ericksson put a placating hand on his arm.

“I can imagine your frustration. What do they say in their own defense? I’m curious what their platform is.”

N’vr, a tall dark skinned delegate with improbably blonde hair answered. “They say they are the bringers of life. They say they weave our thoughts and emotions into our day-to-day existence. They control our dreams.” To Ericksson’s credit, he didn’t look nearly as confused as Jim felt. He simply nodded agreeably, encouraging N’vr to continue.

But, C’sar shot him an impatient glance. “We do not dispute their value to our society, such as it is. To put them on our level, though, is ridiculous. To imagine their intrinsic gifts are superior to ours is unrealistic.”

Spock stepped closer. “Do they not wish to be treated as equals? If they are valuable to your society, why do they not share the responsibilities in addition to the benefits you have granted them?”

C’sar hissed. “They have proven time and time again that they are not equal to the task of taking on responsibility for anyone, including themselves. And if they were in charge, I doubt there would be much left of Coridan. I am sure the Federation’s enemies would find them very pleasant allies. In fact, if our suspicions are correct, they are funded by the Orions, who . . .”

N’vr interrupted and whispered something in the High Elder’s ear. “Enough, gentlemen, I am told it is time we take our leave. Thank you for an excellent meal. Ambassador Ericksson, you and your staff have your work cut out for you tomorrow. I don’t envy you.”

Jim was grateful the evening was coming to an end. “Allow me to escort you to the Transporter.” Jim smiled and extended his arm toward the door. He looked over his shoulder as he escorted the delegation out, shooting Spock, a meaningful look; he had some questions for Spock and the Ambassador later. 

When Jim returned to the reception, a few minutes later, he noticed the Ambassador was gone. He immediately strode over to the Betazoid, Tiaza, he recalled, Ericksson’s Chief of Staff.

“Tiaza, has the Ambassador left for the evening?”

She smiled slightly, “Yes, he has retired. He will need his rest if tonight is any indication of how tomorrow will go.”

Jim grinned ruefully, “I hear that. They are a charming bunch.”

“They are that and more. Pelle asked if you could meet him before we beam down, say 700h?”

“Of course, we can talk over breakfast in the Officer’s Mess. Say, have you seen my First Officer, Mr. Spock?”

“He escorted Pelle to his cabin. They had some matters to discuss.” Tiaza looked amused.

“Well, they are old friends.”

Tiaza snorted delicately. 

Jim sent her a questioning look.

“Oh, I’m not inclined to gossip . . .” She laughed. “Perhaps I am. Captain, they may have known each other for decades but I promise you, their interest in each other transcends friendship. Frequently.”

“Oh.” Jim was stunned and his feeling of panic returned. Tiaza watched him with rising concern.

“Captain, I meant no offense. Mr. Spock seems like a fine being. Pelle is one of the best men I have ever known. The energy between them is quite positive, if not exactly relaxing.”

“I see.” Suddenly, Jim felt the need to leave the room. The walls seemed to close in on him and the air had become hot and stifling. He didn’t notice Tiaza staring at him with alarm. He felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

“Jim. Are you O.K.? Jim!”

“Oh, I’m fine Bones, just starting to get a bit of a headache. You know, I think I’ll turn in. Make my apologies to everyone and let them know they did a good job tonight.” Jim turned abruptly and left the room.

McCoy looked at Tiaza. “Mind telling me what that was all about?”

She shrugged her elegant shoulders. “I think your Captain inadvertently got a bit of bad news. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, just that the man he is in love with is sleeping with the Ambassador. Of course, it would help if he knew he was in love with him.”

McCoy sighed, “Oh hell, even I know that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really, like feed back.


	3. Chapter 3:  Pain to Merit the Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paramount, its agents and assigns own Star Trek, I make no profit from this, the previous or subsequent chapters. It is for entertainment (my own) only.
> 
> This Chapter is quite explicit, if slash bothers you, skip it, it won't impede the plot in the least. All you need to know is that Spock did have a physical relationship with Ambassador Ericksson and is very fond of him.
> 
> If you decide to read it, this is Jim's fantasy. He has a vivid imagination. Just sayin"

Chapter 3: Pain to Merit the Release

Joy to have merited the Pain --  
To merit the Release --  
Joy to have perished every step --  
To Compass Paradise --

Joy to have merited the Pain -- by Emily Dickinson

Jim stood in the middle of his cabin, staring at nothing. He didn’t know why he was so shocked that the Ambassador and Spock were lovers. He only knew that he felt sick at the idea that Spock might be with someone intimately and he hadn’t known anything about it.

Spock had always seemed asexual to him. He had rarely, if ever, shown an interest in another, and when he did, it was usually when he was under some alien influence. Jim also assumed Spock preferred women. The idea he had had a romance with a man was surprising and admittedly erotic. 

 

After a few minutes, Jim gave himself a mental shake, quelling sudden nausea. Rubbing his hands over his face, he closed his eyes briefly, and then hastened to the fresher, stomach roiling. After locking both doors, he leaned over the commode and lost his dinner. Shakily, he righted himself and looked into the mirror, after rinsing his mouth and splashing cold water on his face.

The face that looked back at him was pale, eyes red rimmed, lines of pain deepening around his mouth. He looked like hell. Jim grimaced in a parody of his usual sunny smile and was about to leave the fresher, when he heard Ericksson’s distinctive laugh coming from Spock’s cabin on the other side of their joined doors. Jim couldn’t have stopped himself if he wanted to. He walked to the locked door and leaned against it, trying to hear the voices within with a sick fascination.

He didn’t have Spock’s superior hearing but he could clearly identify Ericksson’s musical voice and Spock’s rumbling undertones. After a few minutes of hearing little of importance, Jim pulled his ear away from the door, ashamed and relieved. This was a terrible breach of Spock’s privacy.

He decided to leave, grabbing a towel and taking a last swipe of his dripping face. Just before he stepped out, he heard Spock groan. He froze and turned to look at the door. Unbelieveable. Unable to stop himself, good intentions ignored, he stepped closer to the door in order to hear.

“Please.” This plea was followed by a string of increasingly urgent Vulcan words Jim couldn’t understand. Their voices rose and fell, to Jim’s mind, not in conversation. They were making love. 

 

By the time they fell silent, Jim was hard as granite, touching himself through the fabric of his uniform pants. When he heard them saying their good byes, Jim quickly released the locks and scurried back to his cabin, making sure no one would enter without his explicit authorization.

Peeling off his uniform and boots, Jim lay down on his bunk, still in his briefs. He hated himself but couldn’t stop from placing a tentative hand on his cock and giving it an experimental squeeze. He swore softly and closed his eyes, picturing the scene that might have been played out in Spock’s cabin, just minutes ago.

In his imagination, he saw them both slowly disrobe each other, discarding their clothing. Spock would take Pelle’s face in his hands and run sensitive fingers over his smiling mouth. He would kiss Pelle gently. Breaking the kiss with soft murmured words, Pelle would run a graceful hand down Spock’s bare chest, his fingertips playing over Spock’s nipples. Spock would lean closer, hands roving down broad shoulders and smooth flushed skin. Pelle would run his hands down to Spock’s hips and take the tip of his penis in his mouth, spreading the fluid down the head and below the sensitive ridges with his tongue. Jim kicked off his briefs and gave his own cock an enthusiastic tug.

While Pelle fellated him, Spock would run his fingers through his thick blonde hair, holding Pelle tightly, thrusting into his mouth. Just as Spock shuddered, close to coming, he would pull out, softly whispering in Vulcan. He would grab Pelle by the shoulders and turn him impatiently around on the bed, massaging his ass with strong fingers. Spock would pull Pelle’s cheeks apart, and hold him open while tonguing him. Pelle would cry out, trying to grasp his shaft. Batting his hand away, Spock would continue to lick him, pushing his tongue in and out of his hole. Continuing to stroke his cock, Jim reached around with his finger and stroked the ring of muscle around his opening. He paused for a moment and found the lube on the bedside table and repeated the actions with slick fingers.

Then, Spock would push Pelle’s face down on the bed, so that he was on his knees. He would slap him sharply, drawing blood to his cheeks while simultaneously stroking his cock. Bending over his back, Spock would line up his erection and take Pelle hard from behind, thrusting into him while Pelle cried out. Jim had set up a punishing rhythm now, pulling hard and awkwardly but effectively thrusting three fingers into himself. He was panting, covered with a slick sweat.

Spock’s head would be thrown back, mouth open, gasping, as he pounded Pelle’s ass, each calculated thrust designed to stimulate them both. Pelle would grip the narrow edges of the bed, struggling for leverage. Eventually, he would tire, head resting on crossed arms on Spock’s pillow, nose buried in his scent. Picking up the pace, Spock would thrust deeply, Pelle writhing with the over stimulation. Spock would glance down at his cock sliding in and out of Pelle’s tight hole and moan softly, one hand tightening on his hip, the other stripping Pelle’s length, until his face tightened and went slack in relief. He would pull out and quickly turn Pelle over, holding his thighs open, watching avidly as his come dripped out of him and onto the sweat damp sheets. Spock would then drop his mouth onto Pelle’s bobbing cock, sucking hard. Pelle would thrash under his mouth, thrusting up, holding onto Spock’s face, finally, coming with a low moan. Jim arched under the pressure of his hand and fingers and cried out. He realized much later, slipping into sticky sleep, he had called Spock’s name.

Spock stood at the door to Jim’s cabin and looked down at his hardening erection. There could be little doubt as to what Jim was doing, he heard him clearly through the fresher door. His moans had drawn him when he entered to clean himself after making love with Pelle. Pelle. He should have been satisfied with Pelle’s attentions, but he found himself wishing it had been Jim touching him intimately. 

Pelle had always been a beloved lover, exciting and innovative. His warm, welcoming body and sharp mind had ever been appealing. They had come together at a time when their sexuality had been a natural outcome of their deep friendship. Pelle was a part of him, his history, and his emotional landscape. They had both taken other lovers but always managed to return to each other, content and comfortable in their affection.

Spock found he was shocked by the fact he wanted Jim, too. He had never considered such a thing, but listening to him masturbate after he and Pelle made love, was undisputedly erotic. He wanted to see Jim’s face as he writhed beneath him. He wanted to see Jim when had his orgasm. 

He touched himself, running his hand over the glands of his erect penis. When he heard Jim come, calling his name, he found himself orgasming again, unexpectedly. 

Cleaning himself, he staggered back to his bunk, throwing himself down; he brought both hands up to his face and was surprised to find they were wet. Spock allowed himself to weep for a moment, grieving for what was, what had been and what never could be. Before he fell into sleep, he vowed to wake early. He would need to meditate in order to function tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really like feed back.


	4. Chapter 4:  City at War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Coridans reveal their secret and Jim and Spock get captured.

Chapter 4: A City at War

Someone mentioned a city she had been in before the war,   
a room with two candles against a wall,   
someone dancing, someone watching.  
We begin to believe.

The Long Sad Party by Mark Strand

 

The Ambassador was already in the Mess when Jim arrived. He grabbed his breakfast and sat down across from him. He noticed Ericksson’s meal looked a lot like the grain soup Spock favored.

“That looks familiar.”

Ericksson grinned and gestured toward the bowl with his spoon. “Spock turned me on to this, I am not surprised.”

Jim looked at him quizzically as he started in on his scrambled eggs.

Ericksson put his spoon down, “You look like a man with a question, Captain. Go ahead.”

Jim stared at his breakfast thoughtfully, then looked up. “I am a bit surprised, I’ll admit.”

“Surprised I share the same tastes as Mr. Spock?”

Jim sat a little straighter. He wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation. “I was unaware Mr. Spock had any tastes at all.”

Ericksson smiled and resumed eating. Finally, he looked back up at Jim. “That is unfortunate, Captain. I assure you, Spock has very distinctive tastes, though he rarely acts on them. Actually, I am surprised you aren’t better acquainted with them, considering the affection he has for you.”

Jim came close to choking on his coffee. Affection? Spock? That would be . . . illogical. He changed the subject. “What did you think of the delegation?”

Ericksson mentally switched gears and frowned. “I found them to be very entrenched in their own ideology. I hope the ‘other side’ isn’t as bad. I also find it interesting that in all our interactions with the Coridans, no one has met them. Our meeting today should be illuminating, to say the least. I am counting on Tiaza to pick up some of their general intentions. She is a very talented empath.”

“I noticed, she could be quite an asset. Tell me, did you note there were no women in the delegation?”

Pelle glanced at Jim. “I did. It’s strange but not the first time we’ve seen that kind of thing.”

He set down his spoon and took a sip of tea. “I definitely get the idea there is more here than meets the eye. I wish I knew exactly what we are getting into but I don’t.” Pelle smiled winningly, “I plan on Enterprise bailing me out if necessary.”

“Of course, Ambassador.” Jim knew his duty. He hoped there would be no need to bail anyone out, though. He nodded and drank the last of his coffee. “Let’s get to it, then.”

 

By 900h, Jim, Spock, Uhura and McCoy, along with the Ambassador’s staff, had beamed down to the planet’s surface. The conference hall was large and filled with at least fifty Coridans from all walks of life. Jim was starting to feel frustrated, listening to complaint after complaint from merchants to educators about how the ‘undesirables’ were destroying their lifestyles. 

Tiaza made a point of introducing Jim to several influential men, all but abandoning the Ambassador. Jim noted this with surprise.

“Tiaza, shouldn’t you be protecting the Ambassador from all this attention?” Jim smiled, taking the sting out of the remark.

“Oh, Captain, Pelle can take care of himself. He is quite capable of getting the information he needs.” Tiaza grinned. “He is also a wizard at avoiding confrontation and lulling them into a false sense of security. You, on the other hand, look like you need a friend. I am sorry about last night, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

Jim looked around the room and found his First Officer, speaking to N’vr. He seemed relaxed, his usual patient self. Jim glanced at Tiaza, who had noted Jim’s attention shifting over to Spock. 

“No harm was done, Tiaza. Spock is entitled to his own life and his privacy. You merely illuminated the situation.”

Tiaza tilted her head, “You are wise, Captain. Sometimes it’s best to let nature take it’s course. You can count on Pelle to make the most of any situation at hand. 

Jim nodded, he had been on the receiving end of Ericksson’s charisma, the man was impressive. He watched him work the room, pausing at each delegate, drawing them out. Jim could almost see the Coridans relaxing and dropping their guard.

Thank the Gods someone knew what they were doing. Jim was at a loss, trying to figure out the Coridan’s agenda.

Finally, the room quieted, the Coridans looked as one, to the entrance. The large double doors opened and the other delegation entered silently. 

The group of fifteen people were heavily shrouded in robes; their hoods included a wrap around the lower part of their faces, obscuring their features. C’sar strode across the room and spoke briefly to their leader. Ericksson was quick to join them and Jim moved closer for the introductions.

“Ambassador Ericksson, I present M’ya, President of the Sh’ya Union.”

Jim noticed that C’sar’s usual detailed recitation of titles was absent and the introduction was intentionally vague and casual.

M’ya bowed and greeted Ericksson with a soft and distinctly feminine voice. “Ambassador, we are pleased and grateful for your presence.”

The Sh’ya delegation was all female. The ‘undesirables’ were women. Suddenly, N’vr’s remarks made sense. “They say they are the bringers of life. They say they weave our thoughts and emotions into our day-to-day existence. They control our dreams.” Their discomfort with the women at the previous night’s reception was now obvious.

As Jim and his party were introduced, he tried to hide his unease. How could the Coridans disenfranchise half their population? On Earth, power had shifted dramatically over thousands of years between matriarchal and patriarchal societies. Admittedly, when men held the power, they had frequently required women to be subservient and held them as second class, even third class citizens. It was a black mark on their civilization but they had recovered. To see such blatant sexism now was alarming. Most Federation societies venerated females, even if custom and ritual didn’t always make it seem that way. 

How could the Federation not know about the schism on Coridan? Jim suspected the planet’s rich sources of dilithum might have blinded them. Gods, he hated politics. He wondered if Ericksson had been unaware. Jim hoped so, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the Federation Council had deliberately manipulated him in an attempt to hold onto mining rights.

Jim and the Ambassador’s group, spread out, working the room, trying to get a handle on the Coridans. Ericksson spent the majority of his time with C’sar, suspecting he might offend him if he was too attentive to the Sh’ya. Tiaza deserted Jim, stayed mostly with M’ya, drawing her out, leaving Jim and his crew to mingle with the other guests.

An hour later, Jim was relieved to hear the bell, signaling they could move to the formal banquet room. McCoy caught Jim’s eye and nodded toward the door. Jim looked around the room and saw Spock standing near the wall. Spock lifted an eyebrow in inquiry and quickly walked to Jim’s side. 

C’sar’s aide, N’vr approached them. “Please, Captain, I would like a word with you and your First Officer. There is somebody I would like you to meet. If you follow me . . .” N’vr strode to the other end of the hall, indicating they should follow.

Jim smiled at Spock. Clearly, he too, was taken aback by the Coridans. He took Spock by the arm and was intent on following N’vr, when they both startled at the sound of the double doors leading to the banquet hall crashing closed, trapping them. Jim spun as Spock reached for his communicator in alarm. They weren’t armed, but the figures, clad in black robes, were. Pointing a phaser at them, one of the intruders stunned them. Jim fell unconscious to the floor, his last thought was surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a note re: what you think of this!


	5. Chapter 5:  Bone by Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paramount, its heirs and assigns own Star Trek. I make no profit there from.
> 
> This chapter is a bit violent toward the end. It is not horrible but skim if you need to.

Chapter 5: Bone by Bone

There is a pain -- so utter --  
It swallows substance up --  
Then covers the Abyss with Trance --  
So Memory can step  
Around -- across -- upon it --  
As one within a Swoon --  
Goes safely -- where an open eye --  
Would drop Him -- Bone by Bone.

Emily Dickinson

Lieutenant Kyle was fielding increasingly hysterical calls from the surface, advising Chief Engineer, Montgomery Scott, third in command of the Enterprise.

“Sir! It’s Doctor McCoy!”

“Tell him to . . . aye, put him on, laddie.”

“Scott! They’re gone! Someone took them!”

“Doctor, I dinnae quite git that. Who got what?”

“The Captain and Mr. Spock! We were herded to the banquet room when the doors slammed, leaving them outside. When the Coridans got the doors open, they were gone. The Coridans think the terrorist group got them!”

Mr. Scott didn’t waste a second, “Orozco, scan for the Captain and Mr. Spock’s transponders on the surface!”

Ensign Orozco looked blank for a second. “Now, Mister!”

Orozco, manning the Science console, opened a link between Communications and the ship’s scanners. “Commander, I am tracing the signal but there is nothing. Nothing at all!”

Scott nodded at Chekov, manning Navigation. “Relieve him, Mr. Chekov, I want a planet wide search.”

Orozco stepped aside, confused at the censure. “Mr. Orozco, coordinate with Mr. Kyle, we’ll be needing your help with Communications.” Orozco stiffened and moved to the Auxiliary Communications station to help Kyle with the onslaught of messages from both Enterprise personnel and Coridans.

“Commander,” Chekov straightened at the Science Station, “We haf no contact with the transponders, dey appear to be destroyed. I haf instructed the sensors to search for the Captain and Mr. Spock’s life signs. It will take a few hours to scan the entire planet.”

“Get McCoy on the horn.”

“Yes sir!” Kyle snapped to the Communications console.

“McCoy here. What in blue blazes is going on up there! Have you found them?”

“Nae, Doctor, we’re running scans right now, their transponders are disabled.”

Scott overheard muttered cursing from McCoy which under different circumstances would have made him smile. He picked up Uhura’s voice in the background. “Let me talk to Uhura.”

“Uhura here, sir.”

“What’s the situation, Lieutenant?”

“We have gathered the Ambassador and his party and are ready for beam up. There is no immediate danger, Sir, but C’sar believes there could be another strike.”

“Alright, Lieutenant. Have the Ambassador report to me as soon as ye’r on board. Scott, out.”

Mr. Scott folded his arms and raised incredulous eyebrows at Mr. Sulu. “Aye, lad,” in answer to Sulu’s unspoken question, “they stepped in it again.”

 

Ten minutes later, Scott, Ericksson, Tiaza and Uhura found themselves in Conference Room 3. Scott watched while Ericksson paced the room, livid.

“Clearly, N’vr intentionally separated them from our party! They never even made it into the banquet room before the doors closed and they barricaded us inside. There was the sound of phasers and no way for us to get to them!” Tiaza put her hand on Ericksson’s arm, only to be shaken off roughly.

“Do you have any idea who the terrorists were?” Uhura sounded worried.

“No. I didn’t get a good look, did anyone else?” He glanced around the room and shrugged. “Not likely to be the Sh’ya unless they have a male security force we don’t know about.”

“Sh’ya?” Scott asked curiously.

“The ‘undesirables’ we’ve heard so much about. They are the female of the species.”

“What?!” Scott was shocked.

“Who ever took the Captain and Mr. Spock were definitely male. The Coridans are saying they are Sh’ya operatives but that seems unlikely.”

“Why is that?”

Tiaza jumped in. “Based on our conversations with them, they probably have little to do with the violent actions against the Coridan ruling class. They are capable of domestic unrest, but not violence.”

Scott wasn’t satisfied, “Because they are women?”

“No, Sir, because they have a fundamental belief in nonviolence.”

Ericksson stopped pacing for a moment, looking thoughtful. “That’s too bad. It leaves the Consortium, and my intelligence says they are Orions and funded by the Romulans.” He paused, “I promise, if they harm them, I will bring the full brunt of the Federation against them. I’ll . . .” Tiaza pulled him down into a chair and wrapped her hand around his wrist.

Scott looked at him balefully, “Aye, lad. Ye’ll have to get in line for that.”

 

Jim woke to Spock leaning over him, his hand on his arm.

“Captain, are you well?”

Jim rubbed his face and hissed at the headache beginning to form behind his eyes. Blinking, he saw Spock’s face come into focus. “Blast it! Where are we?” Jim looked around the small gray room and then at Spock who looked slightly disheveled but none the worse for wear.

“Unknown, Captain. It appears we have been taken hostage, however.”

Jim took in their surroundings. The room was perhaps fifteen meters by twenty, unfurnished except for two rubber mats on the floor and a piped hole in the center, presumably for disposal of wastes. There was no water available and the light was dim. There was a force field running across one of the shorter walls revealing a view to a long nondescript corridor.

Jim rolled his neck and heard it pop. Looking back at Spock, “Do we know who has us?”

“Negative, sir. And there is something else.” Spock held up his left arm, his uniform sleeve slit and stained with green blood. A long angry wound ran up his forearm. Jim quickly glanced down at his own similarly mangled sleeve and arm.

“Damn it! The transponders!”

“Indeed. It appears they do not want us found too quickly. Our best chance is the Enterprise’s sensors.”

“Right! They should be able to scan for you at least. I recall the Coridans are pretty similar to humans, but you should stand out.”

“That is a small comfort, Captain, assuming the Enterprise is even aware we have been taken.”

“Gods, what about Bones? Ericksson and his staff?”

“I have heard nothing to indicate anyone else is here, other than ourselves.” 

Jim sighed and scooted to the wall, propping himself up, he ran a shaking hand over his face.

“Captain! You are in shock.”

“No, but that stun had some authority behind it.”

Spock knelt beside his commanding officer and reached forward to examine his arm. Jim pushed his hand away. “I’m fine. Analysis, Mr. Spock.”

Spock rocked back on his heels thoughtfully. “We have few facts but I have made some conjectures.”

“Shoot.” Spock lifted an eyebrow but was in no mood to rise to the bait.

“It is logical to surmise we have been taken by one of the two factions. The Sh’ya would be the obvious choice as they could conceivably use us to bargain for their position.”

“Seems unwise. Once we are returned, or if they kill us, their bargaining chip would disappear and they would have the Coridans and the Federation actively working against them.”

“Acknowledged. That leaves us with the possibility of a male faction, using our capture to discredit the Sh’ya.”

Jim hummed. “That seems most . . . logical, Mr. Spock. I guess we won’t know until someone shows up.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, locked in their own thoughts.

Finally, “I have a lot of confidence in Scotty. Ericksson, too.” Jim pitched his voice softly.

“If he survived.”

“Spock, I’m sorry.”

“For what, Captain?”

Jim sighed and stared at the opposite wall. “For not knowing you better.”

“Captain? You know me better than anyone . . . I . . .”

“I should have known about you and the Ambassador. I am a poor friend sometimes.”

Spock cleared his throat. “Perhaps, it is I who is a poor friend, Captain. My relationship with the Ambassador, although private, is hardly a secret. I should have . . .”

Spock stopped in mid-sentence, cocking his head to the side, his superior hearing picking up the sound of footsteps. “It appears we will have company shortly.”

Jim slumped against the wall. Spock recognized the tension in his body and mentally acknowledged the ruse. He braced himself against the wall, schooling his body in feigned relaxation. 

Two black-robed Coridans and C’sar’s aide, N’vr appeared at the door, heavily armed. That narrows it down, Jim thought to himself.

“On your feet, Federation,” N’vr hissed. Jim and Spock stood, pretending weakness that neither felt. Obviously, their deception was ineffective. When the force field went down, they were stunned again from the doorway. This time, as they crumpled to the floor, Jim didn’t lose consciousness. He didn’t know Spock’s condition, but he was slumped against the wall, head lolling and eyes closed.

Jim felt himself being lifted under the arms and dragged down a long corridor, every nerve screaming. What ever they had hit them with, it was quite different from the effects of their own phasers.

He lost consciousness briefly. When he woke, he was secured to a chair in a large tiled room. Spock was crouching on the floor in front of him, arms bound behind his back and held by a chain attached to the ceiling. If he fell, it would likely dislocate his shoulders. Whatever happened next, Jim was now confident their captors were intent on causing them harm.

Suddenly, a Coridan stood between him and Spock. He smiled brightly at Jim and gestured towards Spock’s hanging form. Stepping closer, he drew his arm back and aimed a powerful blow, striking Jim hard across the face. Jim’s head rocked back, hitting the back of the chair. Blood filled his mouth. He shook his head and spit in the Coridan’s face.

The Coridan’s smile widened and he used the back of his hand to wipe Jim’s blood off his cheek. “Welcome to the M’zr, Captain. I am called T’ken. It means he who is stone.” He hit Jim again and stepped back to enjoy the effect.

Jim closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were blazing. “Why?”

“Oh, Captain Kirk, you are a pawn. The Coridan ruling class will do anything to keep the status quo and the Federation happy, including giving the Sh’ya what ever they want. That is not acceptable to us and we represent a significant majority.”

“Why us? Why torture us if we are a bargaining chip?” 

“Because you have enemies who want information. Because they asked us to acquire it in the most unpleasant manner possible. Because it pleases me.”

“You must know, neither one of us is going to tell you a damn thing.”

T’ken cocked his head. “Perhaps, perhaps not. In any case, delivering your broken bodies to my employers will give me a certain . . . credibility?”

T’ken grabbed Jim’s jaw and squeezed it hard. Jim could feel his teeth loosen further and swallowed blood from his lacerated tongue. This man was a fucking sadist. Gods, it couldn’t get much worse. Of course, he was mistaken.

T’ken stepped to the side and nodded to another robed figure who pulled down a long rubber hose from its caddy. He turned a lever and a blast of water came out of the end. The man aimed the hose at Spock, shocking him into a gasp. From the mist coming from the hose, Jim could tell the water was ice cold with enough power behind it to bruise. The force of the water was strong enough to push Spock over sideways. Jim watched as Spock struggled to keep his feet on the slippery tile floor.

Jim tried to school his expression. They had both had training in this kind of interrogation but Jim acknowledged to himself, cold and water were a particular weakness for the desert bred Vulcans and Spock was no exception. 

Spock’s tormenter walked around so he was facing Spock, moving the blasting water so it hit him full in the face. Spock tried to duck his head away from the spray but T’ken grabbed his head and held it. Spock tried to keep his mouth and eyes closed, but eventually, enough water made it down his throat, causing him to choke, opening his mouth instinctively to cough. Just as Jim thought Spock would surely drown, T’ken released his head and the other man made short work of soaking his body with the ice-cold water. Spock was still on his feet, head hanging low, choking and retching in an effort to expel the water.

T’ken walked over to Jim, a satisfied look on his face. “Well, Captain? We would like the security codes for Star Fleet communications. Now, please.”

Jim reflexively pulled on his restraints. “All this for communication codes? You have got to be kidding.”

“I assure you, I am not. The codes will enable my friends to disrupt communications through out the sector. When that occurs, I believe they will have, what do they say? A clear field to move some contraband and perhaps take a star base or a ship or two. If, though, you don’t give us the information, well, you always have use as entertainment. I certainly hope you oblige.”

T’ken looked at him hopefully, but when Jim continued to remain silent, he sighed and nodded to the other.

“Take the Vulcan. Give him to the guards. They have been patient so far.” 

The other man disconnected Spock from the chain hanging from the ceiling, leaving his hands bound behind him. He half carried him out. Just before they reached the door, Spock doubled over, coughing, and swept his leg out, taking the Coridan off his feet. Unfortunately, he began to slip, his cold body unable to compensate quickly enough. When he fell to the floor, the other man jumped to his feet, giving Spock a hard kick to his ribs and dragged him out of the room by his hair. 

Jim felt sick but didn’t dare show his reaction. “Why have you taken him? Wouldn’t you just prefer to torture him in front of me.”

“Ah, no. He is a gift to my guards. I doubt they’ll torture him but I imagine their attentions might not be to his taste. He’ll rejoin us when they are finished. Though it might take a while, they are nothing if not thorough. Now, Captain, codes please.”

“Fuck you!” Jim spat. He didn’t sound like a Star Ship Captain right now and couldn’t care less.

“Very well.” T’ken hit him again, lower on his solar plexus, making Jim gasp for air. He smiled at him and left the room, leaving Jim bound, taking short breaths, struggling to stay conscious.

Jim didn’t have Spock’s time sense but at least an hour passed before T’ken returned with two of his guards, dragging Spock between them. Jim couldn’t tell if he was still conscious but he was alive. T’ken released Jim’s restraints while holding him at bay with the phaser. They were marched back to their cell. Jim constantly looked for an opening but saw none and certainly Spock was in no condition to help, even if he could get free.

Back in their cell, the guards threw Spock on the ground and turned on the force field. T’ken stood at the door watching for a moment as Jim quickly moved to Spock’s prone body, checking his condition. T’ken laughed and made adjustments to the force field.

“I will see you again soon, Captain. My guards thank you for sharing.” He turned on his heel and Jim could hear his footsteps retreating down the hall.

He knelt beside Spock and eased him onto his side. He was breathing heavily, a catch in his chest. Other than some bruises and lacerations, he couldn’t see any other injuries but was unwilling to remove Spock’s jacket, now stiff with blood, to assess him further. His normally warm skin was ice cold and his heart rate, as best as Jim could tell without a tricorder, was elevated. He was in shock, that much Jim knew. 

“Spock. Spock! Wake up! Open your eyes!” Jim laid his hand against his cheek, willing him to consciousness. Spock shook his head and struggled to open his eyes.

“Jim. Are you well?” Spock’s voice was hoarse and rough but Jim had never been so happy to hear it. He smiled down at his First Officer.

“Better than you, I think.”

“Indeed.” Spock’s eyes drifted closed for a moment then snapped open. “Jim, we are being held for a consortium, Orions and Romulans, I believe.” He closed his eyes again and curled into a bout of coughing that rocked his body.

Jim grabbed his shoulders, holding him steady until the coughing fit passed.

“I know, they want Star Fleet communication codes. They have something big planned sector wide and want Star Fleet bind, deaf and dumb.” 

“Logical, but quite inconvenient for us.”

“Yes, according to our captors, even if we don’t provide them with the codes, we have a certain value as entertainment.”

“Ah. Jim, is it getting colder in here?”

Jim looked around. It was getting noticeably cooler, the temperature dropping quickly. Spock shivered convulsively so Jim stripped off his tunic. He wrapped his jacket around Spock’s shaking shoulders and looked around the room. He stood and piled up the two rubber mats next to the wall and carefully lifted Spock, depositing him on them. He ignored Spock’s whispered protest and lay down beside him, his warm body a barrier to the seeping cold.

Spock seemed to be drifting into unconsciousness, so Jim prodded him. “Spock, what happened? When the guards took you.” He hated to ask, but he had to know and he had to keep him awake.

“Nothing.” Spock slurred, as if speaking was too difficult.

“No. Not nothing. Tell me, that’s an order.”

Spock sighed. “Not what they attempted to convince you happened. I assure you, Captain, all they did was beat me. They did no permanent damage.”

Jim sighed with relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly love input. Please leave a comment!


	6. Chapter 6:  Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another of Jim's fantasies!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parmount, its heirs and assigns, own Star Trek. I make no profit therefrom.

Chapter 6: Memory

O wolves of memory!. . .  
One shivers slightly, looking up there.  
The hardness and the brightness and the plain  
far-reaching singleness of that wide stare  
Is a reminder of the strength and pain  
Of being young; that it can't come again,  
But is for others undiminished somewhere.

Sad Steps by Philip Larkin

 

Over the course of the next six hours, to Jim’s best estimation, they took Spock two more times, leaving Jim to worry, alone in the cell. When Spock was returned, there was evidence that he had been beaten yet again and of course, each time, he was drenched in the ice-cold water. The temperature had dropped to the point where even Jim was shivering. He did his best to keep Spock warm, but as he became more and more unresponsive, Jim realized he wouldn’t survive much longer under these conditions.

Every couple of hours, T’ken appeared and asked Jim for the codes, but was not terribly disappointed when they were not forthcoming. 

The third time they returned Spock, Jim knew they had done something different. Spock was conscious and struggling in the guards grip, as if he were delirious. When they lowered the force field and pushed him inside the cell, Spock crawled to the disposal pipe in the center of the room and began to retch. Between bouts, Spock moaned, muttering under his breath in Vulcan. 

Jim put aside his fear for his friend and crouched beside him, holding him steady and placing his discarded tunic over his trembling shoulders. Meanwhile, Spock’s body did its best to expel what ever he had been given. Jim knew this was humiliating for his First Officer and it stoked his rage at T’ken and his minions even higher.

T’ken watched Jim minister to Spock, arms crossed with a slight smile on his face. Jim threw him a disgusted glance, trying to keep Spock conscious and on his knees.

“What did you do? What did you give him?” Jim was beyond anger.

“Oh, a special little cocktail the Romulans dreamed up to use on their own prisoners. It dissolves the chemical bonds in the brain, breaking down mental controls and telepathic shields. It shouldn’t kill him but it is quite unpleasant. You may find he becomes violent. Of course, it could also render him completely insane . . . Codes?”

“Are you kidding?” Jim used his sleeve to wipe Spock’s face, in addition to everything else, he was dripping with sweat.

“I assure you I am not. If you give me what I need, I will kill you, or him if you prefer, before I send the other to the Consortium. They are growing impatient and expect delivery soon. I am sure I can get away with only sending one of you alive. Of course, they’ll want the body of the other but I don’t suppose either of you would care at that point.”

“Go to hell!”

“Possibly.” T’ken smiled broadly at that. “If you don’t appreciate my treatment of you and your companion, I assure you, you will like the Consortium’s even less. Their technology is far superior to ours and I understand they have perfected torture techniques that they are hoping can break even a Vulcan. Now, Captain, what will it be? The codes and a painless death for one of you? Or do I just hand you both over?”

Jim remained silent. Neither option was appealing. He would kill Spock himself if it came to that. He knew Spock would do the same for him.

T’ken tisked. “Well, I will return later for your answer. Maybe your friend’s pain will be more persuasive.”

Spock had stopped retching for the moment, adding dehydration to the long list of what ailed him. Jim managed to move him back to the pallet against the wall, laying him on his side.

Spock was drifting in and out of consciousness; occasionally a moan passed his lips. Jim lay down beside him, curling around his torso, trying desperately to keep him warm. He was surprised when Spock turned over so he was facing him and grabbed both of his hands, interlacing his long fingers with his.

“Jim,” Spock whispered, his sour breath puffing over Jim’s face. “Help me.”

Jim tightened his grip on his hands. “Anything. What do you need?”

“I need . . .” Spock’s voice trailed off, shivers rocking his body. “I need your mind.”

Jim’s stomach clenched. If Spock had no emotional controls and no mental shields, this might not be a good idea. Still, if it kept Spock alive and sane, well, it was worth it. Jim disentangled one hand and brought Spock’s fingers up to his face.

“No!” Spock jerked his hand away and grasped Jim’s fingers again in an almost crushing grip. “Not . . . not like that!”

“I don’t understand! Tell me what you need me to do, then!”

“Tell me a story.” 

Jim frowned, “What? What kind of story?”

“A memory, a detailed memory. I will create a light telepathic link I can use as an anchor. With your emotions, it will hold my mind while I try to rebuild my shields.” Spock stopped suddenly, a seizure hitting him hard enough that he bit his tongue, bloodying his lips.

“Jesus! Ok, any story?”

Spock nodded, barely aware.

Jim wildly cast about in his memories, trying to think of something engaging. On the edges of his thoughts, he felt Spock struggling with the blackening chaos of his own mind. Jim visualized Spock’s struggle as a whirlpool. Right now he was riding the edges of it, trying not to fall into the swirling eddies. Whatever memory Jim came up with, it had to be strong enough to keep Spock from falling any further into the confusion of his mind.

Jim suddenly thought of something. It had happened long ago, when he was a child, but there was enough emotional connection to it to perhaps hold Spock together.

It was late summer in Riverside, Iowa and Jim was enjoying the last few days of freedom before he had to return to the stifling halls of his elementary school, fourth grade to be exact. He grabbed a sack lunch and a bottle of water and threw it into his daypack, just past dawn. He was intent on avoiding his Aunt and his older brother Sam, who no doubt would have chores planned to whittle his day away. 

Jim stepped off the front porch and gave a shrill whistle for Tabasco, the red tick hound who pretended to be a working dog but really was Jim’s best friend and companion during the long lonely summer months when his mother was away on a deep space mission and his father was busy at yet another conference. Tabasco bounded to his side, whining and circling, tail wind milling behind him. Jim gave him a pat on the head and took off at a trot towards the dusty cornfields behind the old barn.

Dodging the automated tractors, Jim walked the dirt roads that bisected the fields. He was alone, relishing his freedom, occasionally stopping to pick up a rock to throw at the crows circling the rows of corn. Tabasco stopped capering beside him, finally settling in at a trot at his heels. Jim took a deep breath, smelling soil, growing plants and the hint of water in the distance.

After walking for about an hour, singing softly and off key, Jim left the fields and made for a copse of cottonwood running along the edge of Rebman’s Creek. There was an old game trail that snaked through the dense trees. Jim knew enough to stay away from the poison oak and stinging nettles and still maintain a fast pace. Tabasco occasionally disappeared with a sharp bark into the bushes with Jim shaking his head and calling him back before he went too far and got into trouble.

Jim visualized this so strongly, he knew Spock was right there with him, a ghost walking beside him through these childhood woods. When he pulled even slightly out of the memory, he felt a push from Spock, urging him to continue as though his life depended on it. Perhaps it did.

The dry woods opened to a meadow sloping down to a creek running along the north edge. In spring, the meadow would be green and fragrant with grass and wildflowers. The creek would be loud and bubble along its outer edge, dancing around boulders, moss green. In late summer, the grass was brown and so dry, it crackled under his feet. The drooping leaves and bushes surrounding the meadow rustled for Jim’s ears alone and he congratulated himself that he had remembered the jar to capture some crickets.

By the time Jim made it to the creek bed, he had kicked off his shoes and socks to enjoy the squish of black mud between his toes. Tabasco padded down to the water and took a long drink. Jim cupped his hands and helped himself, utterly forgetting his Aunt’s warning about tainted water. Jim splashed his face, cooling his slightly sunburned skin and followed the creek bed around a bend to a small pool.

Bug’s Pond had been there since before Jim’s father George, had been a boy. Decades ago, a cottonwood had failed and fallen across Rebman’s Creek, creating a natural pool which waxed and waned in size depending on the rainfall. Now in late summer, it was no more than twenty meters across, filled with murky brown water that was cold under the trees and bath warm in the direct sunlight that dappled its surface. The name, Bug’s Pond, came from the many insects that used it to spawn and provide sustenance to the few small fish that made it their home.

Jim pulled off his daypack and spread out an old towel on the dark mud next to the pond. He stripped off his t-shirt and jeans and threw them into a pile on his pack and clad only in his briefs, ran to the edge of the pond and jumped in, cannonballing into the cool water. Tabasco stood on the edge, barking furiously until Jim surfaced and whistled him in. Tabasco launched himself at Jim, landing virtually on top of him, sending them both under for a few moments until Jim came up for air, laughing and sputtering. Tabasco, clearly proud of himself, began to circle Jim, dogpaddling and barking with excitement.

Jim felt Spock calming. The chaotic whirlpool marking his mind was slowing as he fully immersed himself in Jim’s memories. 

Jim chased Tabasco around the pool, whooping and splashing, while Tabasco barked happily. Eventually, even a dog gets tired and he swam to the edge of the pool, and with difficulty crawled out, paws slipping occasionally in the mud. Tabasco walked over to Jim’s pack, and with an action repeated many times over that long summer, shook water over Jim’s piled clothes, soaking them. Tabasco walked to the towel, spread out on the dry grass, circled three times, before settling down with a contented sigh.

“Stay away from my freakin’ sandwich!” Jim warned the dog in the sternest possible tones. Tabasco opened one eye and huffed into a nap. 

Jim, without doggie entertainment, decided that he would play crocodile. This involved floating face down in the pond, kicking stealthily toward the shore in the hopes of trapping an antelope. Before reaching the shore, he dived below the surface of the water; eyes open in the murky water, looking for trapped animals. When he saw one, in reality, a tree branch, he grabbed it and kicked to the surface, rolling in the water for the kill. 

After indulging in and consuming several imaginary antelope and one hippo, Jim made his way to the shore, clambered up the steep slope and pushing Tabasco out of the way, fell onto the towel like a downed tree. Jim reached for his daypack, and uncovered a ham sandwich (real ham, mayonnaise, no mustard or tomato), leaving the apple and chocolate chip cookie for later. Tabasco, annoyed at being usurped from the towel, lay down in front of Jim, nose to nose, drooling and hoping for a handout.

When Jim finished his sandwich, he took a sip of his water, and took a nap. He had a most peculiar dream, one where he flew on the back of a silver bird, not through the sky, but through space. He turned his head one way and his father sat beside him. When he turned the other way, his mother smiled at him, pointing to a passing star and laughing. The dream seemed important, somehow, but no matter, he knew he wouldn’t remember the details when he woke up.

When Jim finally stirred, the shadows were growing long beside the pond and the heat of the day had passed. He heard a squirrel chattering and watched Tabasco turn a suspicious head toward it. Jim’s skin stung from sunburn and itched from insects that had bitten him. With a sigh, he stood and pulled his jeans and shirt back on, picked up his daypack and the remains of his lunch and whistled for Tabasco, who had strayed in search of the errant squirrel.

Jim’s memory changed from what had actually happened to a waking dream. He was still a boy, Tabasco at his heels, but Spock was no longer a ghost; he was walking, a shadow, slightly behind him, on the narrow game trail. Jim looked behind him occasionally, noting that Spock wasn’t the tall efficient Science Officer he knew now. He was a boy of about eight years old, shorter than Jim and thin as a rail. His hair was longer than Jim was used to seeing and fell into his eyes. His large brown eyes were dark, shining with intelligence. Jim would know that expression and the set of his jaw, anywhere. 

Once they reached the road, Jim slowed and reached for Spock’s hand. They walked side by side; hands clasped, Jim occasionally stopping to kick the dirt on the road. Spock raised his head and looked at the endless cornfields and the vast blue sky in astonishment. Seeing it through Jim’s eyes was fascinating.

As they neared the house, Tabasco took off, barking joyfully at the figure that appeared on the porch. Jim recognized him immediately and tugged Spock along, picking up a trot. 

George Kirk waited on the wood porch, hands on his hips, a delighted smile on his face. Spock was a brick behind him. Jim pulled him along though, a dead weight.

Once he reached the porch, Jim dropped Spock’s hand and ran into his father’s arms. George hugged him tightly. He grinned at Spock and dragged the young boy into an enthusiastic one-armed hug.

“Hey, Spock! I’m glad you finally made it.”

Spock stepped away from the crushing embrace and raised an eyebrow.

“How do you know who I am? When I was of this age, I had never been to Earth, much less had the opportunity to meet you.”

“Spock! This is Jim’s mind! You’ve been here for years. You’ve always been welcome in our hearts and home. Jimmy? You must be starved. Let’s go inside, you can clean up and we’ll have some supper. I have a surprise for you.”

Jim looked at his father adoringly. He pushed Spock through the door ahead of him and heard his father’s chuckle. Once inside, his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he saw his surprise, his mother bustling about the kitchen, cooking their supper. His older brother Sam was being a pest, trying to dip dirty fingers in biscuit batter, while Winona Kirk held him off with a wood spoon.

Jim laughed out loud. This was not the way the memory went; somehow Spock’s presence had changed it.

Winona turned as Jim and Spock entered the old farmhouse. She was flushed from cooking and still waving the spoon. She dropped it and smiled, walking quickly across the room to envelop Jim in an embrace. She was a warm presence, soothing to Spock’s shattered mind. 

“And Spock! Finally, you grace us with your presence!”

“Win, leave him alone. Ignore my wife, Spock. She is delighted as I am to have you here.”

“Quite right. Now, if you expect to be fed, get upstairs and get cleaned up for supper.”

Jim gave his mother a quick kiss and with a last look over his shoulder at George, he grabbed Spock by the shirtsleeve and dragged him up a narrow staircase to his room. 

Jim watched Spock take in his childhood bedroom. He looked around, curious about what his mind had conjured up. It had the best elements of every stage of his childhood. Bookshelves lined the room, filled with his favorite novels and prizes he had won and found over the years. One shelf alone boasted beloved books, Tom Sawyer, Wizard of Oz, Chronicles of Metium, right next to his adolescent attempts at whittling, and pictures of Jim showing his old quarter horse, Mango. 

Jim sprawled on the bed watching Spock. He was older now, in his early teens. Jim glanced down at himself and realized he too, was thirteen or fourteen years old. Jim ran a shaky hand through long dark blonde hair. He was the age when he just returned from Tarsus IV. Not the best of times and he wondered why his mind had conjured this time over anything else. 

Spock sat on the edge of Jim’s bed, uninvited, legs tucked underneath him. Jim envied him the ability to sit so still in such an uncomfortable position.

“This is your mind, Jim? Why is it I am here? Why did your parents expect me?”

Jim considered his answer and decided to go with the truth. “You are here because this place, these people, are home to me. You are home to me as well. Makes sense that I would scramble this together in my head.”

Spock looked confused. “How can I be home?”

“Because home is simply the best, warmest, and safest place to be. Of course you are here. I think you have been here for a very long time.” Jim looked down at his lap, embarrassed.

Spock stared at him for a moment and then tipped his chin up with a long finger. “You are my home as well, Jim. I can imagine no other mind as welcoming and generous as yours.”

“Then, I have another confession for you, Mr. Spock.” Jim lay down on the bed, resting his head on his elbow. He needed a little physical distance now from the brooding young man sitting on the bottom of his bed.

Spock lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

“Well, I haven’t had a lot of luck with relationships.” Spock nodded. “And I come with a fair amount of emotional baggage.” Spock looked confused for a moment but then his face cleared. “And . . . I love you.”

Spock stared at him, frowning. “You love me . . . You love me? How is that possible?”

“Fishing for compliments, Mr. Spock? Here, let me show you.” Jim leaned forward and brushed Spock’s lips with his.

Spock tolerated the contact for a moment and pulled back, curious, not affronted. 

“Jim, I do not understand.”

Jim sighed, scooting closer to Spock. “This is my mind. You don’t have to understand. You just have to accept. I have loved you for a long time. As my friend, as my brother, as . . .” 

Spock looked uneasy. This was not the reaction Jim had hoped for. “Look, I know you are with Ericksson. I think that’s when I realized that I wanted you in the same way. It’s ironic, isn’t it? I’m jealous. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t want to come between the two of you. It . . . just hurts. I’m sorry, I can’t lie to you when you are in my head.” Spock’s expression was unreadable to anyone else. To Jim, it signaled regret, grief even.

“Spock, it was just a missed opportunity. It never occurred to me that being with you was even possible. I . . . want, I wanted to be him, to be with you the same way. I wish . . .”

Spock interrupted, his eyes betraying his tension. “Jim, would you like to see? What it was like, what I wanted it to be?”

Of course he did. At the risk of seeming like a voyeur, he wanted to understand what it would take to be with Spock, the way every atom in his body wanted to be. He nodded, no longer able to articulate his feelings.

The dream changed again, instead of sitting on Jim’s childhood bed, he was in a nondescript room on an unnamed Star Base. Jim saw two figures, moving together as one, on a simple white bed. One was dark and ardent, the other blonde and graceful, weaving together, arms and legs twining like vines, bodies seeking each other as though they were the only solution to an unasked question. They were young, barely more than boys, but searching for an emotional resonance, which had been denied to both. 

Jim took Spock’s cold hand, watching the memory, becoming aroused by these beautiful boys, locked together in passion. Spock leaned toward him, touching his lips with his own. Jim opened his mouth, tongue seeking Spock’s as they fell into the present, two men, adult enough to choose, to know what they wanted. 

On Jim’s bed, tucked under the eaves of his family’s old farmhouse, they made love. Spock was unerringly responsive to each caress. Jim felt touched to his inner core. It was not so much about sexual completion as the joining of two souls, Spock seeking something that had always eluded him, Jim reaching for the upper edge of emotion.

Finally, sated, they lay tangled in each other, drifting toward sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please drop a review1


	7. Chapter 7:  Coming Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paramount, its heirs and assigns, own Star Trek. I make no profit therefrom.

Chapter 7: Coming Back

Someone was saying  
How the wind dies down but comes back,  
How shells are the coffins of wind

The Long Sad Party by Mark Strand

T’ken and N’vr stood by the door to the cell, realizing they were witness to something remarkable. Jim and Spock were laying against the wall, face-to-face, elbow-to-elbow, hands wound tightly together. Jim had thrown his leg over Spock’s hip, locking them together. Both men seemed unconscious but didn’t seem to be in distress. 

T’ken wrinkled his nose, the room smelled of vomit, stale sweat and something else. He glanced over at N’vr who was expressionless as usual.

“Check on them, the Orions want at least one of them alive.”

N’vr entered the cell, kneeling next to the men. T’ken pulled out a weapon, prepared to cover him if it was a ruse.

N’vr looked them over carefully and used his unerring sense of smell to discern their relative health. Finally, he stood and looked blankly at the wall.

“Well? What is their status?”

N’vr turned and looked at T’ken, concern in his eyes. “They are alive but not well. The Vulcan survives only because he has created a link with his Captain. They are K’vinae.”

T’ken was silent. This presented a problem. K’vinae were true mates. In a male dominated society, where women were kept apart, this type of relationship was not uncommon and was revered.

T’ken had no reason to doubt N’vr, the man had an almost uncanny ability to assess others, their strengths and weaknesses. He was the one who had so successfully determined the Vulcan’s weakness, first to the cold, then to the Romulan drug. He’d also realized that the human was vulnerable to the Vulcan’s pain. If he was correct and others discovered their relationship, the M’zr would never allow him to sell the men to the Orions. And he needed to, badly.

T’ken called over his shoulder for additional guards. When they stepped into the cell, he gave them his orders.

“Pull those men apart, I don’t care if you have to break their hands.”

N’vr paled. “NO! You can’t separate them. You will kill them both!”

T’ken strode over to N’vr and grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulling him to the side of the cell. “They will not die but you will if you don’t cease countermanding orders immediately. It is not for you to say what their fate is.” 

N’vr bowed his head in submission. T’ken was insane, he would kill him for no reason, but inside, he shuddered. This was fundamentally wrong. He watched as the guards pried the two men apart and covered his ears at the high keening sound coming from the Vulcan. That one would not survive. He felt it.

The human was weak but fought the guards as well as he could. He managed to get to his feet and swing two closed fists at the nearest guard, knocking him sideways into the wall. He followed it up with a flying kick to the guard’s midsection, making him howl with pain. Unfortunately, it gave the other guard time to grab him from behind. The guards had learned the hard way to hold on to the smaller human; he was too fast and agile for them. As the first guard was getting up, T’ken brought a quick end to the skirmish by punching the human in the mouth, snapping his head back and sending him into unconsciousness.

No one had paid any attention to the Vulcan during the fight and that was a mistake. To everyone’s surprise, he had managed to stand, one hand propping himself up against the wall, the other reaching out, grabbing the first guard’s shoulder, sending him in a heap to the cell floor. 

N’vr stared, shocked that the Vulcan could render the guard unconscious with a touch. He must be a powerful creature. Linked to the relentlessly determined human, they were truly a frightening team to contend with. If the Federation was made up of such creatures, perhaps the M’zr were aligned with the wrong group.

T’ken smiled and pointed his weapon at the Vulcan, ready to fire. N’vr stepped between them, prepared to die, if need be.

“If you shoot him, he will not survive. If we leave him, he might and you will have two prisoners to offer the Orions.” 

T’ken glared at N’vr, surprised but mentally calculating the profit the two would bring, as originally planned. 

T’ken walked to the unconscious guard and assessed him quickly. He would live. He gave the order to clear the cell, leaving the Vulcan leaning against the wall.

“Very well. We’ll take the human and prepare him for transport. The Vulcan can stay here for the moment. Watch him.”

Spock slid down the wall, watching Jim being half carried down the corridor. The farther away he got, the worse the pressure in his mind became. Spock felt darkness closing around his mind and the whirlpool of emotions start again, whipping his psyche into a dizzying spiral.

He threw his head back, eyes tightly closed to the onslaught, gasping for breath. He’d already attempted to invoke the mind rules, to no effect. The only thing that had worked before was Jim, his mind, his emotional landscape, his memories. Spock tried to access the memories again, hitting a blank featureless wall time and time again.

Spock had never been one give up, especially when his survival was tied to Jim’s. He gave one last powerful push with his mind, expecting to hit the wall again and suddenly found himself on the other side of it.

He wasn’t in a cornfield, or a meadow, or even Bug’s Pond; he was standing beside Jim on the Bridge of the Enterprise. This wasn’t Jim’s memory at all, it was Spock’s, but it had the same effect because Jim was right there, beaming hope and affection, hazel eyes bright with joy, hands open at his side as if to take him in his arms. Spock felt himself smile and didn’t stop himself. Somehow the link was still there, both of them sharing the burden and the pain.

“Well, Spock. I don’t know how you did it but will this work?” Jim grinned.

“I do not know that I did this. However this has come about, I cannot deny I am pleased.”

Jim walked over to Spock and ran his hands down his arms, pushing him to a sitting postion on the floor, his back to his science station. Jim sat down cross-legged in front of him and took his hands in his. They both closed their eyes, drifting together while their bodies, in real time, coped with the Coridans.

Jim knew his body was being dragged toward an unknown destination. He ignored his discomfort and focused on Spock, mentally sitting before him on the floor of the Enterprise’s Bridge. He held Spock’s gaze, smiling slightly at his friend. Jim was enveloped in the warm wash of Spock’s affection, each second ticking by, comforting him as his arms were wrenched, his mind assailed. Just as Spock had taken solace in him, he drew on his strength, moment by moment, making the situation tolerable.

T’ken had pulled him into a transport bay, which was too warm for human physiology. Jim felt sweat dripping down his face, clouding his eyes, drenching his uniform tunic. Spock might have been comfortable in these temperatures but for a human, it was just another small torture. 

Jim shook his head, hands secured behind him. T’ken nodded at a Coridan standing beside a characteristically Orion transport in the bay. Jim was shoved roughly in that direction. Later, Jim could say without qualification, he’d had no idea what was to happen next.

Jim looked up with surprise when he heard the engines of the Orion transport start up. The bay should have already been cleared, as the heat and the chemicals from the thrusters, transformed it into a morass of heat and pain. 

Jim had enough warning to duck his head into his shoulder, protecting his face and lungs from the onslaught of heat. Jim went face down on the tarmac, unaware that the Coridan guards took the brunt of the engine’s blast. 

He felt hands grabbing him, pulling him back behind a wall in the bay. The sudden coolness brought relief immediately but Jim didn’t feel secure until a Coridan released his bonds, gesturing him to follow. Jim, nothing loath, was right behind him, following at a dead run.

 

N’vr had been left in the cell with the Vulcan. He initially was in distress, shivering and gasping, eyes closed in pain. N’vr watched his face closely, feeling an unfamiliar sympathy for the alien. His increasing discomfort, the farther away the human went, was absolute proof to him they were K’vinae. Gradually, the Vulcan’s pain eased and an almost tranquil expression came over his face. N’vr was certain, that if he were observing the human, he would see the same. He came to a decision then. These two must be saved.

When the Vulcan seemed stable, N’vr put his hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. The Vulcan opened his eyes almost immediately, surprisingly alert.

“We must get you to a safe place, immediately or T’ken will take you to the Consortium.”

Spock’s voice was hoarse but clear. “Why would you do this? Why now?”

N’vr looked at him sadly. “I have done you a disservice out of ignorance. I must try to make it right. I don’t agree with the Federation’s politics, I never will, but if we sacrifice that which is most cherished for mere policy, we become less than what we should be. Rest for a moment, we will have to move quickly and you will need your strength.”

“My Captain . . . Jim . . .”

“I will do everything I can to bring you together and contact your ship. I can’t promise more.”

N’vr left briefly, returning with one of the long hooded cloaks worn by his people and a shocked looking guard. When Spock raised a questioning eyebrow, N’vr was quick to reassure him.

“T’ken has many enemies. He seeks to solidify his position with the credits he plans on collecting from the Consortium. You may think us to be a barbaric people, but we’re not. What you and your Captain have endured was at T’ken’s behest; we are shamed to have been a part of it. This man is H’ner. He can be trusted and will take you to a safe place while I arrange for your Captain’s rescue.”

“Thank you, N’vr. I still do not understand why you would risk your life, however.”

N’vr smiled slightly, for the first time. “You love your Captain, do you not?”

Spock was stunned but answered after a pause. “I believe I do.”

“I loved someone once. He was the best part of me, he was my soul. He is gone now but part of him is still with me and tells me that protecting you and your Captain is the right thing to do. Please go with H’ner. If I don’t contact you within the hour, he has orders to communicate directly with your ship.”

N’vr turned to go but gave Spock a brief smile before striding down the corridor. Spock thought the smile suited him and felt a moment of sadness for his loss.

 

N’vr was as good as his word, he brought Jim to the small apartment H’ner had taken Spock to within the hour. Spock had been resting on a narrow cot when Jim burst through the door, bruised and bloodied but full of light and energy. Jim scooped him into his arms and holding him tightly to his chest, buried his face in Spock’s neck. N’vr stood at the doorway watching for a moment, remembered grief in his eyes. 

Finally, Jim pushed Spock back onto the bed, beaming at him. “Damn it! You’re alive! I thought I’d lost you but here you are! How are you?”

Spock cocked his head on the pillow, still gripping Jim’s elbows. “I believe I am well, under the circumstances, thanks to N’vr and H’ner.”

Jim acknowledged the younger Coridan with a nod and looked over his shoulder at N’vr, giving him a grateful smile. “Who would have guessed? My thanks as well.”

N’vr stepped into the room, mouth opening to respond when the blast hit the building. The explosion came from behind, instantly killing him. H’ner was immediately thrown into the wall as the room filled with smoke, debris and soon, flames. 

Jim threw himself flat across Spock, trying to absorb as much of the blast with his body as possible. Spock still had leverage though and rolled Jim against the back wall of the apartment, curling around him. His last conscious thought was to lace their fingers together and pushing hard with his mind, sent them someplace, any place, far from the inferno that raged around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter:  Eyes Bought in Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paramount, its heirs and assigns, own Star Trek. I make no profit therefrom
> 
> Who survives the blast and how!

Chapter 8: Eyes Bought in Paradise

Thy Eyes Bought in Paradise  
Pardon -- to look upon thy face --  
With these old fashioned Eyes --  
Better than new -- could be -- for that --  
Though bought in Paradise --

Because they looked on thee before --  
And thou hast looked on them --  
Prove Me -- My Hazel Witnesses  
The features are the same –

Joy to have merited the Pain -- by Emily Dickinson

Captain’s Log: Supplemental - Lieutenant Commander Scott in command in lieu of Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock, both of which are currently missing in action.

We are in orbit around Coridan, utilizing ship’s sensors to search for the Captain and Mr. Spock who were abducted by a group of terrorists called the M’zr. We are advised by the Coridan liaison, C’sar, that the M’zr are being supported by what appears to be Orion pirates and funded by the Romulans. In addition to ordering Communications and Sciences to run continued planetary scans; they have also expanded their search to the entire solar system. The Coridans are very cooperative, especially when it was discovered that C’sar’s chief aide N’vr is missing and presumably had something to do with the abductions.

Mr. Scott ran an impatient hand through already unruly short hair, earning him a sympathetic look from Uhura. Ambassador Ericksson was pacing again, long strides eating up the upper walkway of the Bridge, while Dr. McCoy watched with growing concern, leaning against the side of the Command chair. 

Finally, McCoy couldn’t stand it anymore. “Ambassador, if you don’t calm down and sit, I’ll confine you to Sick Bay. You are not only working yourself up, but everyone on the Bridge, too.”

“Aye, laddie, maybe ye cud have a wee chat . . .” Before Scott could finish that sentence and face Ericksson’s terrified eyes, Chekov gave out a whoop.

“Got’em!” The Bridge erupted in cheers and McCoy suppressed a sigh. It was one thing to find them, it might be another to get them back in one piece.

“Kin we get a lock on them?” Everybody watched Chekov closely, who had stiffened.

“Sair, I located Wulcan and Human life signs in close proximity which I assume are the Captain and Mr. Spock. But the sensors have registered an explosion! Dey were in the middle of it!”

“Damn it! Do we still have life signs?”

The Bridge was silent as Chekov worked furiously over the sensors.

“ Aye, Mr. Spock’s life sign is wery weak and thair is something very odd about the Captain’s. Perhaps Dr. McCoy can look and see?”

“Put it up on the view screen.” 

Chekov flicked a couple of dials and a life form schematic appeared on the screen showing a strange bleeding over of energy between the two men. More significant was Spock’s life sign, which was dangerously low.

“Scotty, we could beam them up if that is the safest choice but I would like to go down there and see what’s going on first and stabilize Spock, if I can.”

“Aye, we don know how extensive the explosion was though.”

Mr. Scott spent a few moments consulting with Chekov and Security and finally straightened, looking directly at McCoy. “We have their coordinates, the Coridans will send their people in first and then we’ll beam down. We won’t beam them up without your O.K. unless things get rough.”

The Ambassador cleared his throat. “I would like to . . .”

“No offense Mr. Ambassador, but I don’t give a rat’s ass what you would like to . . .”

Surprisingly, McCoy jumped in, placing a placating hand on Mr. Scott’s arm. “What Mr. Scott means is . . .”

“Unnecessary, Doctor, he is quite right. My interest in this has become personal. Please let me know if I or my staff can help in anyway.” With that, Ericksson gave them a sickly smile and left the Bridge.

Scott looked over at Uhura, “Lassie, keep him in the loop as much as ye can, but I don want him anywhere’s near the planet or the Coridans.”

“Aye, Sir.”

McCoy rubbed his hands together and gave Scott a grin. “Let’s fetch those boys back home, shall we?”

 

 

Jim woke to the hiss of a hypo and immediately began coughing, smoke, fire suppressant, and debris, clogging his lungs. He couldn’t see at first but felt Spock lying stiffly next to him on the cot. For a moment, he thought he was dead but felt a flicker from Spock’s mind, a warm ember that was a beacon to his consciousness. The stress of the blast had pushed his mind back into the whirlpool; pain had rocked him into the unfeeling blackness. Jim wasbhurt and cold from fear. He could lose him yet.

He was startled by McCoy shaking him, trying to pry Jim and Spock’s clasped hands apart. Jim fought him with every ounce of strength.

“Bones, you can’t! Spock was given something that’s interfering with his telepathy. He’s using my mind as an anchor!”

McCoy swore viciously and ran his tricorder over first Jim, then Spock. He rocked back on his heels, considering for a moment.

“Lexorin. That might stabilize him enough.”

Before Jim could ask, McCoy injected Spock with a hypo spray and Jim immediately felt the rising pressure of Spock’s panicked mind lessen. Spock slowly opened clouded eyes and blinked in confusion.

Jim unwound their hands, wincing at the fingerprints and nail marks Spock had left. He watched as McCoy rolled Spock carefully onto his back and covered him in a thermal blanket, calling for immediate beam up and an emergency medical team. 

The next few minutes passed in a blur, the medical team tended to Spock and then transported them both to Sick Bay. Jim tried and failed repeatedly to get up and ascertain the status of his ship and Spock, but McCoy managed to be passing his bio bed every time, glowering at Jim and exhorting him to, “Stay, God damn it, until I tell you!”

Jim had suffered minimal injury from the blast, thanks to Spock. His injuries from T’ken were almost not worth mentioning, though he suspected the ship’s dentist, Dr. Dodge, would be working hard to save a couple of his teeth. McCoy wouldn’t release him from Sick Bay until he was certain Spock’s meld hadn’t done any damage. If he were honest with himself, he needed the time to process what had happened between him and Spock. 

Dear gods, Spock. He’d needed Jim in a way Jim couldn’t fathom. To be that essential, that important, was beyond Jim’s imagination. Part of Jim was afraid, afraid of loving and being loved to that degree. Part of him was afraid that Spock wouldn’t be able to leave Ericksson. But part of him was full of joy and hope, warming him from within. He knew, regardless, they were bound together tightly . . . Jim sighed. It was useless, he couldn’t quite work it out, exhaustion pulling him down into sleep.

 

A few hours later, Jim was beginning to nurse the mother of all migraines so was not enthusiastic when Scott and the Ambassador eventually made it down from the Bridge to brief him.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at Scotty’s concerned face. “Well, Mister? Report.”

“Aye, Captain, we had the devil of a time locating you and Mr. Spock without those transponders, but Chekov did a grid by grid search and we found ye, in the capital city no less.”

Jim arched his eyebrows. There was more, no doubt.

Scott cleared his throat. “As ye kin imagine, the M’zr were not willing to gie ye up without a fight. The explosion, that took out the building ye were in, happened seconds before we found ye. I dinnae know at the time, but the M’zr blew it up, we din know why.”

Jim wiped a tired hand over his face. “Yes, we do Scotty. T’ken was about to transport us to the Consortium, but N’vr helped us escape and that building was a ‘safe house’ of sorts. I think T’ken blew it up because the M’zr turned against him. Without any evidence, I suppose he hoped the Consortium would call it a wash and move on.”

“Well, Sair, we took possession of T’ken and he’s sittin’ in the Brig, complaining about his civil rights. Now, that fellow T’ken is a piece of work. He’s not stopped smilin’ yet, a psychotic bastard, if ye don mind me sayin’ so.”

Jim nodded slowly, he knew too well. “And what about the Consortium? We understood there were Orions and Romulans involved?”

Ericksson jumped in, tense and holding his anger in tight check. “Yes, Captain, they were bankrolling the M’zr. They planned to cast blame the Sh’ya; their ultimate goal was a civil war. If we thought the Coridans were prejudiced against the Sh’ya, it was nothing by comparison to the M’zrs.”

The Ambassador paused, thoughtful. “Of course, the M’zr’s affiliation with the Consortium may have opened Coridan eyes. The fact that several of them turned on T’ken and came to your aide is significant. I think they might be ready to see reason now.”

“And the Consortium? T’ken indicated they were nearby, ready to take delivery on us, dead or alive.”

“Sorry, Sair. It looks like they made pretty clean getaway, nothing left of ‘em but an ion trail. Sensors are tracking them and the Fleet is on the look out but those Orion pirates are nae easy to find when they go to ground.”

Jim was well aware of that. Scotty noticed his eyelids beginning to droop and placed a cautionary hand on Ericksson’s sleeve. “If there’s nae else, Sir, the good Doctor would like us to leave, I’m guessing.”

McCoy had indeed stepped in behind them, making shooing motions with his hands. Jim needed to rest and by Gods, he would, at least when he was in his Sick Bay.

Ericksson hesitated at the door, letting Scott precede him into the corridor. “Doctor, might I have a moment with the Captain? I just want to thank him.”

McCoy crossed his arms ready to say no, but after a moment, “Yeah, go ahead but make it quick.” He stepped out to give them some privacy.

Ericksson approached Jim’s bio bed, uncharacteristically hesitant. Jim motioned to the chair next to the bed and Ericksson sat, gracelessly, clearly exhausted, worry lining his face.

“Captain, I don’t . . . I don’t know how to thank you for saving Spock’s life. I know what he had to do was terribly intrusive yet you agreed without a thought.” Ericksson stopped, like a toy winding down.

Jim knew, without a doubt, that this man loved Spock with all his heart. He had seen the flavor of it in the meld. He also knew he wouldn’t be the one to break his heart, if that was what Spock would wind up doing. 

Some of his sympathy must have shown on his face. Ericksson cleared his throat and smiled.

“So the good doctor was right, you kept him sane by sharing a childhood memory.”

“That’s right, I am sure my mom scared the hell out of him.” Jim chuckled but stopped when he noticed Ericksson’s serious expression.

“Captain, I know you know about Spock and me.” Jim started to interrupt but Ericksson held up his hand, “Let me finish. I also know that you love him too. I want you to know, whatever he decides, who ever he chooses; I want him to be happy. I couldn’t ask for a better person to keep him that way. Thank you for that, if nothing else.”

Jim was speechless. Ericksson smiled ruefully and stood. “I do want to stay on the right side of your esteemed doctor, so I’ll let you rest.” Ericksson held out his hand and Jim grasped it, feeling the older man give it a respectable squeeze. Ericksson turned and left without another word.

Jim shouldn’t have been surprised to see McCoy appear at the doorway. He sat down immediately in the chair Ericksson vacated and tilted his head in a fair imitation of Jim’s First Officer.

“Well?”

“Well what, Bones?”

McCoy looked at him calculatingly for a moment. “Aren’t you going to ask about that green blooded hobgoblin I’m treating for all manner of Vulcan hoodoo?”

Jim sighed, he knew perfectly well that Spock was fine. It was very strange, but the link still seemed to work. He could feel him. 

“Voodoo, Vulcan voodoo.”

“Whatever. Since you asked so nicely, he is responding to the Lexorin Damned if I can isolate the concoction they pumped into him but it breaks down on its own over time in the blood stream and his brain chemistry is rebuilding his shields and controls as we speak.”

“What about his other injuries? What about the blast?”

“Well,” McCoy drawled, “he has a couple of cracked ribs, a lacerated spleen, or whatever Vulcans call it, third degree burns and a touch of pneumonia. You expecting something worse?”

“No, Bones. I just . . . I just want to make sure he’s going to be alright.”

McCoy tisked. “Now before you even ask, I’m cutting you loose tomorrow and he’s staying ‘til his lungs dry out. Don’t even think about seeing him until at least 1200h.” McCoy stood up, muttering under his breath about getting at least three more meals in Spock before Jim could get him all “het” up.

“Night, Bones.” Jim said this to his back, McCoy’s attention moving on to its next victim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know how you like it. One more chapter I believe and we're done.


	9. Chapter 9:  Forever Unconfessed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock finally get it together and Spock says good-bye to Pelle.

Chapter 9: Forever Unconfessed

I’d rather have the theme of you  
To tread my nights and days,  
I’d rather have the dream of you  
With faint stars glowing,  
I’d rather have the want of you  
The rich, elusive taunt of you  
Forever and forever and forever unconfessed  
Than claim the alien comfort  
Of any other’s breast.

Choice by Angela Morgan

At precisely 1200h, Jim appeared outside the private room, McCoy currently referred to as ‘Spock’s Suite,’ because of the special medical equipment that was calibrated to his hybrid physiology. McCoy appeared, as if by magic, by his side.

“You look fit, Captain. If you give me ten minutes, I’ll release you to light duty.” McCoy took Jim by the arm and attempted to lead him away.

Jim shook him off, “Let me check on Spock first, then I’m all yours.”

McCoy stepped between him and the door and Jim’s eyes widened with concern. “Bones, he’s alright?”

McCoy grabbed his elbow and steered him toward his office. “Of course, Jim. I’d have called you.”

McCoy pointed at a chair next to his desk and Jim sat down heavily. “He just needs a little privacy. The Ambassador is with him right now.”

Jim sucked in his breath. Whatever, whomever Spock chose, it was going to be painful for someone, probably him. Jim had had time to think about Spock, what this whole mess had revealed about how they felt about each other. Because of what had happened in the meld, he thought of Spock as his lover, but he wasn’t, not really. The only man who held that claim was the Ambassador, who was with Spock at that very moment. 

Jim closed his eyes. Spock had turned to him because he need to, not because he wanted him. Jim knew without doubt, his own emotions had clouded Spock’s damaged mind. It was as if he had taken advantage of Spock, who had been in no condition to make his own decisions.

He’d forgotten McCoy was sitting on the edge of his desk in front of him. When he opened his eyes, McCoy regarded him with sympathy and concern.

“Bones, I feel like an idiot.”

“Jim, I can’t say I know Spock’s mind. I can’t even say I understand what happened between you on that planet. I can say you are the last person in the Universe that Spock wants to hurt.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? Spock is going to hurt someone, most probably himself. Can you imagine, Bones? He’s the least equipped of the three of us to take on guilt. And you know that’s exactly what he’ll do. He’ll drive himself half crazy trying to figure out how to spare the Ambassador or me and wind up locking down so hard, there won’t be much left of him.”

McCoy looked at Jim, consideringly. “I think you are selling him short. In fact, I think you are selling the Ambassador and yourself short. Neither one of you would ever allow him to beat himself up like that. And one thing you can say about Spock, he has terrific survival instincts. He’ll get through this, you all will.”

Jim leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. Just then, McCoy’s console buzzed. McCoy smiled, “It’s time to find out. Don’t guess you want company?”

Jim stood, “Hell no. If I am going to get my heart ripped out, I deserve some privacy.” Jim winced. “Thanks, Bones.” 

When the door swished closed, McCoy added, “Good luck, Jim.”

 

Jim stood outside the closed door to Spock’s room, trying to convince himself to enter. 

He walked in to see Spock lying on his side, his head tucked under his arm. Spock lay unmoving for a moment, before opening his eyes and reaching for Jim. Jim swallowed the lump in his throat and sat on the edge of the bio bed, taking Spock’s warm hand in his.

They stared at each other for a moment; there was nothing to say. Jim took in Spock’s pale face, gaunt, fatigued, eyes dark and glistening. Spock could only see Jim’s worry and a shadow of fear behind his eyes.

Finally, Jim couldn’t take the silence any longer. He cleared his throat, “Spock.”

At the same time, Spock’s voice cracked on Jim’s name.

Jim chuckled, this was so typical of both of them. “You first.”

People, who say Vulcan’s don’t have emotions, clearly had never met one. Spock’s face had a thousand expressions Jim had catalogued over the last three years. He must have seen a hundred flit across his face in the next few seconds. Spock struggled to express himself, his hand gripping Jim’s, thumb ghosting over his fingers and palm.

Finally, “Jim, I cannot. I just cannot. I have tried and failed.” Spock’s voice was rough with emotion.

Jim felt his heart drop. This was it, then. Somehow, he would have to take his love and bury it deep and pray he could figure out how to remain friends. Friends. Pain twisted through Jim. The link, it meant nothing. It would wither away.

Spock’s hand stopped moving and Jim forced himself to meet his eyes. They were wide, surprise and grief in savage conflict. Jim straightened his back, ready to pull his hand out of Spock’s grasp, but Spock wouldn’t or couldn’t let go.

“It’s O.K. Spock, it’s fine. I understand.”

“No,” Spock’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “No! You do not understand. I cannot let you go. I have tried, I have considered every option, every potential danger, every logical argument against you, and I cannot be without you. You showed me your heart. You invited me to be your home. I cannot deny you.”

Jim didn’t cry. He hadn’t cried since he was a boy, and yet he felt tears filling his eyes and he furiously wiped them with his free hand. Gods, he was crying in front of Spock, he must think he is insane.

But Spock watched him with a soft expression. His fingertips grazed the tears in the corner of his eyes and he brought them up to his lips. Jim took his hand and kissed his palm, closing his eyes to the powerful emotion surging through him. This was indeed love. 

Jim placed his hand over his heart. He leaned forward and took Spock in his arms. After a moment, Spock pulled away, angling his mouth and kissed Jim. Jim closed his eyes, feeling Spock’s mouth under his, his taste, the smell of him. After a moment, he pulled out of the kiss and buried his nose in Spock’s hair. He’d held him like this before, in his mind, in his memory. But now, for the first time, he could touch him, truly. 

He took a deep breath and leaned back to see Spock raise his eyebrow. This time, Jim did feel his heart breaking. This time, it broke, too full of love. The joy radiating from Spock was palatable. This was paradise, this was home.

 

 

 

It was illogical, but Spock had always hated the cold, dry air of the Enterprise. It leached into his bones, painful and unforgiving. He’d learned over time how to master the discomfort but he never quite was able to banish it. This morning, he felt particularly uncomfortable, whether from his injured state, now healing or from his anticipated task.

Spock stood outside Ambassador Per Ericksson’s quarters and tried to find within himself, the courage and purposefulness Pelle deserved. Other lovers had come and gone and they had remained bound in affection, friendship and even love. But as a couple, they could not survive the tempest that was James T. Kirk. 

That was wrong. This wasn’t Jim’s doing, this was Spock’s. He had to take responsibility for falling in love with his Captain. That Jim created undeniable emotions in him was no one’s fault but his own. Certainly, he couldn’t blame Jim for hurting Pelle.

Spock buzzed for entrance to Pelle’s quarters and found the door opened far too quickly. Pelle was waiting for him, as he always did, expression open and expectant. It took Pelle perhaps twenty seconds to read Spock’s face and realize why he had come.

Spock watched Pelle’s expression fade from joy to grief and the human part of him writhed with pain. Pelle turned away from him for a few moments, Spock watching his beloved’s body collapsing inward. For a few brief seconds, Spock forgot why he was there and stepped toward him, to comfort, to love. He remembered with a shake of his head, this chapter in his life was at an end and he owed it to this man to be kind.

Pelle finally turned toward him with a wistful smile. “So, you have made your decision.”

Spock frowned, “Pelle, I . . .”

“Don’t. Just, don’t. You know, I almost can’t blame you for loving him. He is everything you have ever wanted. Strong, kind, brave, full of intelligence and wit. You share something indescribable, leading this ship, making history, and creating a legend between you. I don’t blame you, I don’t blame him. I saw it the moment I stepped aboard. I suppose I am honored to have been here when you finally came together.”

“I am sorry.”

“Why? Sorry you found someone you can love, someone you can live out your life with? Don’t be sorry, Spock. Rejoice that you have found your other half. He’s t’hy’la, isn’t he?”

“Yes, I did not realize but I can not regret it or him.”

“Then know I am happy you have found each other.”

“Are you, Pelle? I do not believe I could show such equanimity.”

“Of course you would, Spock, it is your nature to want what is best for others. It is one of the many traits I fell in love with those long years ago.”

Spock had nothing to say to that and so stood, quietly, waiting for Pelle to say anything that might indicate forgiveness. Pelle watched Spock, drinking in his presence as though for the last time.

Finally, sure he was still welcome, he crossed the room and put his large hands on Spock’s shoulders, eye to eye. Spock’s eyes were softer than he had ever seen before. Pelle exulted that somehow Jim Kirk had unlocked his emotions. All his grief and pain was worth it if Spock finally embraced even part of his human half. 

Pelle leaned forward and kissed Spock, with a question. Spock roughly wrapped his arms around him and opened his mouth, seeking, testing, and saying good-bye. Pelle closed his eyes to Spock’s onslaught, bliss at being taken one last time by the one man in the universe he trusted.

Finally, Pelle stepped back, eyes laughing at Spock’s stormy ones. “You! Take all that passion back to the one who loves you. Know I will always love you as well, but I love you enough to send you to him. Now, get out of here!” Pelle gave him a push and a playful swat, sending Spock back into the corridor, confused and a bit angry.

When the door closed on Spock, Pelle covered his mouth with both hands and screamed silently. He made his way to his bunk and sank down, too demoralized to even cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read and review!


	10. Chapter 10:  Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is the beginning. A bit of pathos, a bit of love.

Chapter 10: Epilogue

It would have been perfect, like a romantic holovid or novel, if life had just faded to black after seeing Spock in Sick Bay. But, as life is wont to do, details had a way of impacting day-to-day existence, rendering even the tenderest moments irrelevant and a distant memory.

Jim still had to interview T’ken and his cohorts and transport them to the nearest Federation base for trial and probable incarceration. Normally, the Coridans would have brought them to justice, but when faced with the fact that C’sar’s trusted aide had been one of the ringleaders of Jim’s capture and Spock’s torture, C’sar had washed his hands of the whole affair.

Ericksson had agreed to remain on Coridan to help them develop a more integrated society, allowing the Sh’ya full rights. He worried that full integration was far in the future but M’ya was a strong leader, surprisingly able to deal with the men and make long term plans for the women, as well. It was obvious to everyone that the Sh’ya were not only capable of taking responsibility for themselves but were also willing to take on representational duties for the good of the entire society.

Jim met with Tiaza and Ericksson briefly, before they beamed down. Sitting in Briefing Room 3, Jim held onto his coffee tightly, watching the Ambassador. Ericksson didn’t look like a man with a broken heart. Jim suspected Spock had spoken with him, but knew none of the details. 

Ericksson had lost none of his professional luster. He spoke clearly and concisely about his immediate plans for the Coridan negotiations and the Federation Diplomatic Corps’ future there. Tiaza never took her eyes off of him, as though she was expecting him to break.

“Ambassador, is there anything else the Enterprise can do for you?”

Ericksson looked at him, searching Jim’s face for a moment. “No sir, you and your crew have done more than enough and I thank you for getting us to this point.”

Jim nodded, understanding the many nuances of what Ericksson had just said. He looked over at Tiaza who gave him a rueful smile.

“I, too, thank you. Captain, my apologies again that our diplomatic crisis caused you any discomfort.”

“Well, it seemed to have worked out for the best.” Jim avoided Ericksson’s eyes.

“Thanks to both of you and your staff. If nothing else, at least the Coridans have a chance to build a healthy society now, one I believe the Federation would be proud to call a member.”

Jim nodded and stood, ushering them out. They had last minute packing to do before beam down. He found himself impatient to wrap this mission up and to get on with his life. He wanted to concentrate on Spock now, step into the hole Ericksson had left, and to help them both heal. 

 

 

Jim met them one last time in the Transporter Room, joined by his First Officer. Ericksson had sent his aides down first and Jim considerately cleared the Transporter Room so Spock and Ericksson could have some privacy.

Jim was astonished when Spock laid his hand on his arm, encouraging Jim to stay. Ericksson didn’t look surprised, but his mobile face was as implacable as a Vulcan’s.

Jim summoned all of his diplomatic skills to stay still. He had always disliked emotional moments and this was ramping up to be a big one. Thus, he was surprised when Ericksson walked toward him and extended his hand.

Jim took it, remembering the first time, days ago when he burned with jealousy that this man had a piece of Spock he could never reach. Now, as he looked into Ericksson’s kind eyes, full of humor and, yes, affection, he marveled at how they had come full circle.

Ericksson cleared his throat and clasped Jim’s hand. “You will take good care of him?”

“Of course.”

“He’s a lot of trouble, you know, bossy, intractable, and surprisingly messy.”

Spock’s eyebrows shot up and he looked as horrified as a Vulcan could.

Jim grinned, giving Ericksson’s hand a squeeze, “I know, I’ll do my best with those character flaws. Though, I suspect it is a losing battle.”

“Take care, Jim.”

“You as well, Pelle.”

Ericksson released his hand and turned for a moment toward Spock, for the first time, sorrow marking his face. He shook his head, forced a smile and bounded onto the transport.

“Send me away, Captain, I have a world to tame!”

“Yes, Mr. Ambassador, energizing now.”

Spock and Jim watched as the transporter spirited him away and turned as one to face each other.

There was really nothing to say, it had already been said. Jim took a moment to gaze at Spock, taking in his pallor, the sad cast to his eyes. He worried about whether or not they could effectively serve together. He worried that he wouldn’t be enough for Spock, so used to Ericksson’s intensity.

Spock watched Jim’s face carefully, assessing the emotions he was unsure of. Jim was so different from Pelle and that excited Spock. He wanted nothing more than to sink into his mind and luxuriate in his love and acceptance. He wanted to touch him as a human would, intimately, lovingly, exploring every facet of his mind and body.

What passed between them was only a few seconds. Jim finally broke the silence.

“Spock, you and I . . . we have some things to discuss.”

“Captain, I am off duty for the next 2.4 days, you are free, I believe, after 1600 hours. Perhaps a repast and a game?”

Jim laughed. “Sounds like a plan, Mr. Spock.” Jim’s chuckles continued to echo down the corridor as they left the Transporter Room.

 

Jim finished his shift, tired and irritable. It always put him off when Spock wasn’t at his Science station. He’d been thinking of him, mind wandering aimlessly, trying to come up with a game plan for dinner. Part of him wanted to set up a seduction, part of him wasn’t sure he was ready for it. Spock was still injured, he had heard the slight wheeze in the Transport Room.

As he reached his quarters, he had convinced himself that tonight would be literally dinner and a game of chess. Anything else could wait. They had all the time in the world.

When Jim entered his quarters, he immediately knew he wasn’t alone and tensed. Before he could call the lights up, he recognized the figure sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. Spock was wearing his uniform pants and T-shirt, feet bare, back bowed. He looked vulnerable sitting there, waiting for Jim as though he would be passing judgment and Spock would be found wanting.

Jim put down his PADD and toed off his boots, coming to a stop in front of Spock. Spock looked up at him, with a determined expression. Jim knelt, almost between his knees and took his hands in his.

“Spock, you don’t have to do this.”

Spock’s face was unreadable in the low light but Jim could see a shine in his eyes. “Do what in particular, Captain?”

Spock’s fingers laced with Jim’s and continued. “We need to have a discussion, I am here to facilitate it.”

Oh . . . Jim went from being worried he might hurt Spock to slightly nervous. His stomach jumped and he felt excitement build. 

Spock unwound his hands and cupped the side of Jim’s face, drawing him close so he could feel the warm whisper of his breath across his cheek. He pressed warm lips against Jim’s and felt his mouth relax and slacken. Spock reminded himself to be gentle.

An embrace can be many things; a hug, a kiss, intertwining of limbs, a thought. As Jim felt himself enveloped in Spock’s arms, his mouth touching everything in reach, fingertips and palms caressing every inch of skin, Jim realized he was held by Spock, by his will, his strength, his emotions. Jim felt taken, consumed, known.

There was no thought of who was dominant. Spock clearly won the inarticulate battle between them, but gracefully gave ground, allowed such intimacies from Jim that he was shaken to his core. To touch his elusive Vulcan lover in this way was fire along his nerves, to feel him respond to his lips and tongue, the sweep of his fingers, created an inferno in Jim’s mind and body.

Spock had just begun, of course. There was so much more than the thrill of the body, there was yet the thrill of the mind. He wove their energy together into a brilliant strand, colors pulsing along the edge, occasionally flaring when the passion rose. Jim found himself raised higher and higher and then dropped in relief. This continued, seemingly endlessly until neither Jim nor Spock could tell the difference between them, the deep ache that had defined them both separately, eased, as the bond grew stronger.

Reaching physical completion was almost beside the point, though both did; Jim with his head thrown back, body tensing as waves of bliss flowed from him. Spock curled around his lover, already tense and ready; relaxing into relief he had never realized he required.

Lying together, sweat slicked, steamy and fragrant, Jim had to chuckle. Spock was, as reported, quite messy. Spock was too exhausted, mentally and physically to be affronted by the hilarity from his lover.

 

Hours later, McCoy noted Spock seemed rather smug and Jim lighter than he had been since they first met. McCoy grumpily pushed a plate of lettuce toward his Captain, noting a peaceful energy coming from the command team. They had finally found their place with each other, for that, McCoy could thank the Ambassador, if nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this story because of the crazy format, the fantasies, the meld - memories, the OCs. I loved writing Ericksson, who is based on an old friend of mind, who is just as dynamic and passionate as described. I wish I could have done him more justice!
> 
> Please let me know what you think, as always.

**Author's Note:**

> I am eternally grateful for any comments.


End file.
